


The Natural Conclusion

by EasfitHadia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood - Fandom, Under the Red Hood
Genre: And a tough dude, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Bruce hurts the people he loves most, Damian's a good brother, Families of Choice, Found Family, Jason's a good brother, Jason's a tough dude, Jewish Character(s), Muslim Character(s), Nyssa's cool too fight me, Talia's a good mom, Tiger Mom Talia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2019-10-30 20:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17835461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasfitHadia/pseuds/EasfitHadia
Summary: Whether he loves him or hates him, Jason doesn’t know who he is without the Batman. Talia’s determined to help him find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Jason Todd fans! This one picks up from the end of Under the Red Hood. Something to be aware of: Talia DID NOT sleep with Jason. As far as I'm concerned, they've both got too much self respect. Also, Talia's a mother to Jason in this one and it's not weird. Talia's a great mom and Bruce is a horrible dad. In my opinion, Bruce isn't especially heroic and DC demonizes many of the characters around him in completely unrealistic ways to make him seem more so. I'm here to set the record straight. Hope you guys like it!

“Jason,” the voice cracks like a whip. Too loud. Hangover? Definitely. Whoever it is, he doesn’t care if they kill him. He burrows into the pillow a little deeper. The voice is quiet for a minute, then he is drenched in cold water and the sheets are ripped away.

“Jason get up this instant! Your lack of awareness is appalling!” Talia al Ghul berates him, dragging him to his feet when he moves too slowly.

“Knew it was you,” he lies blearily.

“Do not lie to me, Jason. You didn’t know and you didn’t care. You were wallowing.”

“So?” He asks, sullenly. “I don’t give a damn and neither should you.”

Her backhand rattles his teeth. He flinches unconsciously as she raises her hand again.

“Enough of this,” she hisses, eyes on fire. “I have allowed you to feed this obsession long enough.”

_After three years of training and another nine months of planning, Jason Todd, the previously deceased second Robin, had reintroduced himself to Gotham as the Red Hood. He’d seized control of the city’s drug trade, kidnapped the Joker, and stayed ahead of the Batman, all of which culminated in Jason’s knife against the clown’s throat and his gun trained on the Bat’s head._

_Everything had gone as he’d planned it. Bruce had been like a dog on a lead, following the trail Jason had set for him until, finally, it led the old man exactly where Jason had wanted him to go. He’d brought them both together in one room, the Joker who’d tortured and murdered Jason to prove a point, and the Batman who, even after everything that had happened, still thought his skewed, dogmatic sense of morality was more important than making the madman stop._

_And, standing in that room, Jason had realized: he didn’t want to win. He could kill Batman and the Joker both. Maybe he should, but he didn’t want to. He wanted Bruce to finally do what he should’ve done in the first place. So, instead of taking his victory, Jason gave the man who had pulled him up out of the streets, who had, for a time, been a better father than Willis ever could, one more chance to choose._

_“Kill him or kill me, Batman. Decide.”_

_And Bruce had decided. Jason had just enough time to feel the batarang slice through his throat before the clown took Jason’s detonator and tried to kill all three of them._

_“HAHAHA Batsy! Even now you find a way to win! But everybody still loses.”_

_The blood loss had hit hard, and Jason had passed out for a while. He’d woken as Talia was pulling him from the rubble. Batman and the Joker were long gone. Bruce had saved the Joker, and left Jason to die._

_Talia had personally flown in from the Middle East, to pull her charge from the rubble and bring him to her private clinic for recovery. After his treatment, he’d asked to go back to Gotham, and she’d taken him under the condition that he “do something productive.”_

Based on her presence, Jason’s current downward spiral isn’t what she had in mind.

“Sit,” Talia says, gesturing to his musty, old couch like she owns it.

He obeys, taking one end while she takes the other. In spite of what Bruce believes, the woman isn’t heartless. If she were, she wouldn’t be here in the cheap, run-down apartment he was using as a safe house, judiciously ignoring the dirt getting on her expensive pantsuit while she tries to convince him to let his beef with Bruce go.

“You’re coming with me to Nanda Parbat,” she says, straight to the point, eyes daring him to argue.

“Why?”

“You’ve permitted your life to revolve around seeking vengeance on those who hurt you. You need to find a new purpose.”

“What’s it to you?” Jason asks.

Talia ignores the question. “I’ve found in life that people only really hate that which they believe they can change. You can’t change him, Jason. Bruce is what he is.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snaps.

“If you did they’d both be dead!” Talia shouts, flying to her feet. “You could’ve finished them both but you didn’t because you’re still holding on! I leave you here for six months and come back to find you living in a hovel and drinking your sorrows away. You have a second chance to do anything you want and _this_ is what you come up with?”

She stands before him, breathing heavily, eyes filled with a desperation he doesn’t understand. It’s almost... maternal? Jason’s not sure what to do with that.

He’s not prepared to trust that she doesn’t have an ulterior motive but, if Talia needs something from him, she isn’t saying so now. Truthfully, if she is just getting him to do a job, he doesn’t really mind anyway. It would be good to think about something not related to Batman.

“My things?” He asks with a sigh, getting to his feet.

“In the car,” she says, leading him out the door.

“What if I’d said no?”

“That wasn’t an option. Come along.”

He follows Talia down the worn wooden steps and out of the apartment building. Her car, an austere-looking black Rolls Royce, is parked at the curb. The assassin Talia’s using as a driver opens her door first, then Jason’s, with silent professionalism. The whole display is far too extravagant for the streets of Blüdhaven, but Talia’s always had a flair for the dramatic.

At Talia’s brief gesture, the divider slides into place and the car sets off. Jason sighs, watching the dirty streets through the window. Here he goes again, free falling into something new. As usual, no one had asked him first. Jason’s whole life had been this way, no stability, never able to settle, always looking to the horizon for the next storm.

Well, best to get it out of the way. “What am I doing here, Talia?” Jason asks wearily.

Talia’s smile is sad and, he thinks, a touch hopeful. “Our first business is to take you away from this place. What you do next can be discussed later. For now, I thought you‘d like to have this.”

The young man’s eyes go wide as Talia passes him a copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_. No, not just a copy, _his_ copy. The copy Alfred had given him after he’d first come to the manor. Now battered, dog-eared, heavily annotated, it was Jason’s favorite book. There were few memories of the old house that remained untainted, but this book constituted some of his best.

“H-how, did you get this?” Jason asked, not bothering to hide the catch in his throat.

“A call to Mr. Pennyworth. It seems he felt guilty for the way Bruce treated you. He was more than happy to send me the book.”

“Thank you,” Jason whispers, eyes clouding with tears. He doesn’t hug her, not knowing if she’d be comfortable with the gesture, but he’s sure his smile conveys enough.

Jason knows better than to give his trust freely for a gift, but he also knows that Talia wouldn’t expect to win his trust so easily. He doesn’t know if she respects him, but she oversaw his training and knows him well enough to see that he’s not a fool. Improbable as it seems, Jason’s inclined to believe that she really did do this just to make him happy. It doesn’t mean he trusts her, but he is grateful.

Two hours later, they’re reaching 20,000 feet as Talia’s private jet heads for Nanda Parbat. Jason quickly claims the private cabin which had been reserved for him when he’d travelled with Talia in the past. He takes the opportunity to shower, changing into the loose linen garments Talia’s servants had left out for him. For a while, he alternates between reacquainting himself with the book and looking out the window until, finally, the sound of the air conditioning and comfortable seats lull him to sleep.

A slight bump alerts him to their arrival. Grabbing the book and the clothes he’d been wearing when Talia picked him up, Jason makes his way to the jet’s single exit. He passes his clothes off to one of Talia’s servants, knowing she would insist, and stands next to her as the door opens and steps are wheeled into view. Down on the tarmac, a pair of familiar faces await their return.


	2. Chapter 2

“Todd,” the boy greets, managing to sound regal despite his prepubescent treble. Considering his parentage, that shouldn’t be a surprise.

“Damian,” Jason smiles, taking the boy’s outstretched hand and pulling him into a quick one-armed hug.

“You’ve let yourself go,” he observes haughtily, pulling away with an indignant huff.

Jason shoots him an offended glare which is soundly ignored. The kid’s not wrong. Six months of self-destruction have dulled his edge, physically and mentally.

“I heard you’d been sent to your father?” Jason questions, surprised to see him here.

“I was,” the boy answers with hard eyes, “He was a disappointment.”

“Sorry.” He had expected this. Bruce had never been a model parent and he seems to have gotten worse in Jason’s absence. Still, Damian had wanted for years to meet his father and must’ve been thrilled when Talia finally gave in and let him.

“Don’t be,” Damian replies, green eyes almost gold in the sunlight as they lock onto Jason’s. “He chose the life of a monster over one of his own. He should be the one apologizing for what he did to us.” 

 _Us_. Jason doesn’t miss the kid’s word choice. When had his relationship with Talia and her son become an _us_?

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a sharply accented voice. “Hey, did you forget about me?” 

“Adira,” Jason starts, trying not to be awkward as he addresses the young woman before him, “it’s been a while.”

Adira Sharabi held an interesting position in Jason’s life. She had entered the League around the same time Talia dumped him in the pit. She and Jason had trained together, even taken a couple assignments together. She was one of Talia’s favorites, and had spent a good deal of time around Jason and Damian. Jason considered her a friend. He could even say he trusted her, insofar as he’d given her no reason to hurt him and wasn’t currently a target of the League.

Born in Israel, she’d joined the League after a stint in Mossad. What brought her to Nanda Parbat, Jason didn’t know. People who give themselves to an organization like the League of Assassins have a reason for doing so. Adira had never volunteered the information and he knew better than to ask. Still, he had found her to be a basically moral person and, with her dark curls, amber eyes, and flawless olive complexion, she was undeniably beautiful.

Jason hadn’t told her he was leaving for Gotham. It wasn’t really any of her business, but he still wondered if he’d broken the fragile trust they’d shared by not telling her.

“So how was Gotham?” she asks, switching to Hebrew, “I heard you almost killed the Bat.”

He thinks he detects a slight edge in her voice, but it’s hard to be certain. Adira’s always been a little intense.

“Almost,” he answers.

“Why didn’t you finish it?”

“I made a choice. It turned out to be the wrong one.”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, but then they soften. “I understand,” she nods, “We always wish we could change them.”

A pair of cars roll up, one for Talia’s party, and another for the servants. Grateful for the interruption, Jason turns and climbs in the back of the first, followed by Damian, Adira, and Talia herself.

“I suppose your father’s waiting?” Jason asks, transitioning to Arabic as he addresses Talia.

“My father is dead.” 

Jason doesn’t know what to say. Talia knows perfectly well that, while he had never hated Ra’s al Ghul, he had always believed that the man should’ve died years ago. Jason had been put in the Lazarus pit once and was still struggling to maintain a grip on reality. Using the pit as many times as Ra’s had, Jason was sure, must’ve taken a heavy toll on his sanity.

“It was time,” Talia continues, only the barest hint of sadness in her voice, “The pit had taken too much of the man I remember. He wouldn’t have recognized himself.”

“That’s why he wanted father to take his place,” Damian adds. 

It saddens Jason, what the old man’s legacy has become. Once upon a time, the League was a force for justice. They had killed all kinds of monsters from dictators to slavers to drug lords, instated new governments, freed captives, and maintained the global balance of power for generations. It had taken several attempts over a number of years, but they’d even killed Hitler.

They were not overlords, but stewards. They worked to maintain balance in the world and, for a very long time, humanity had reaped a great benefit from their existence. In the past few decades though, as his mind had deteriorated, Ra’s had led them to take an increasingly, dangerously active role in global affairs. By the time he’d started planning global genocide, the damage to his mind had become so complete that there wasn’t a hope of repairing it. To live in such a state must’ve been agony. For him, dying must’ve been a mercy. 

“So you must be running things now?” Jason asks.

“Nyssa and I, yes. She didn’t want anything to do with it at first, but she agreed that it’s her responsibility as well.”

“How is that going?” Jason asked carefully, knowing that, although Talia loved her younger sister dearly and vice versa, they were prone to disagreeing. If they were arguing, he didn’t want to be the one to start Talia on a rant.

“Well enough,” Talia replies, “We’ve always worked well together. And having her on hand has been good for Damian‘s training. It’ll be good for yours as well.”

Jason allows himself a little smile at her words. He’s not getting his hopes up, but it’s seeming more and more like Talia’s brought him here for his sake rather than because she needs something. Also, he’s curious to meet Nyssa.

Nyssa Raatko, unlike her older sister, had started a family of her own in the early 1930’s. They’d lived in Eastern Europe where she’d grown up and, being Jewish, had been victims of the Holocaust. She’d lost her husband and children to Auschwitz.

Somehow, instead of breaking down, she’d survived. In spite of everything, she still had hope that the world could be better and was taking responsibility for leading the League because she could see that the world still needed it. As far as Jason was concerned, that took a kind of strength that Batman would never understand. Talia had the highest respect for her sister and, if she was anything like Jason had heard, so did he.

Jason turned to stare out the window as they entered the village surrounding Nanda Parbat, rolling down the window to enjoy the smell of the market. In his time with the League, he’d come to love this place. It was beautiful and quiet and the people had no idea that an ancient order of assassins had been based there for centuries. 

He has vague memories of Talia bringing him and Damian here before the pit. He has no idea how she kept that from her father though and, given how few and unreliable his memories are from that time, he wonders if he’d just imagined it.

He’d come here since then though, sometimes with Adira or Damian, usually on his own. He’d never really seen himself as a member of the League but, in spite of that, this place had come to feel like home. It was good to be back now without the specter of the previous Demon’s Head hanging like a fog.

Nanda Parbat was an odd blend of tradition and modernity. Carved from the cliff face which surrounded the village on three sides, it bore a remarkable similarity to the Petra. Inside was more of the same, rooms carved with amazing precision straight from the sandstone. It was divided up among the assassins’ quarters, training facilities, and research facilities (though the League maintained countless others all over the world). The Al Ghul’s and their inner guard had separate facilities within the fortress which allowed them to maintain distance from the foot soldiers.

Jason had always stayed in the private wing. Talia had even seen to it that he had the honor of a set of rooms connected to hers and Damian’s. A practicality, she’d said, since he made an excellent body guard for the boy. Looking back, Jason suspected it was also to keep him away from her father.

In helping Jason, Talia had gone against her father at every turn. No one but an al Ghul was ever permitted to use the pits. After he’d realized how damaged Jason’s mind was, Ra’s had intended to leave him well cared for as an appeasement to Batman, but nothing more. Essentially, he would have been placed in hospice, allowed to live comfortably until he died. But Talia had chosen differently. She’d given him his life back. He still couldn’t understand why.

He’d wondered, at first, if she had meant it as an appeasement to Bruce, but he knew that wasn’t the case. Whatever affection Talia held for the man had faded long ago. She’d said it herself: he couldn’t be changed. He could never condone her actions because they didn’t conform to his dogma. She would never bend to his dogma because it didn’t fit with reality. He thought her a demon and she thought him a fool.

Jason soon found himself on his private balcony, looking past the village and out over the desert. Desert nights, he had found, were some of the most beautiful on earth. There were hardly ever clouds, so the whole expanse of the night sky was visible, stars laid out like a tapestry over the ocean of sand as the moon shown brightly over the waves, bathing the world in silver.

Soft footsteps, followed by the crisp, earthy scent of oolong tea alerted him to Damian’s presence. Jason didn’t turn, just reached for his cup as the tea set was placed on the railing between them.

“Thank you, Damian,” he says softly, hearing the boy hum in reply.

Tomorrow, he would train, plan, recover his strength. Tomorrow, he would start his journey down a new path. Tonight though, he would enjoy the company of the young man who, in the quiet of his own mind, he couldn’t help but see as a brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally going to add an OC but, when I was writing the scene at the airstrip, I felt like someone else was supposed to be there. Thus, we have Adira. I know it seems right now like she'll just be some kind of one dimensional token love interest for Jason but believe me she won't. There's a really good chance she won't end up with Jason at all. I've been getting to know her and I think she's a pretty awesome character. I hope you guys will agree.


	3. Chapter 3

“My sister is quite fond of you, Jason Todd,” a rich feminine voice sounds in lightly accented English as he enters the private training space.

Nyssa Al Ghul moves to face him, hands releasing the railing she’d been leaning on, head turning away from the desert.

She’s a couple inches taller than her sister, 5’10 if Jason had to guess, lean and long. Tight curls, several shades darker than Talia’s medium brown, frame her sharp, angular face. Her dark, almost inky green eyes narrow as she takes him in. He’d have described her as willowy, if not for the power in her movements. Her posture is erect, straight as a knife blade, but her strides flow like ocean waves.

Time seems to slow as she crosses the room with those fluid steps. She takes his chin gently in her calloused fingers, tilting it down, then up as she studies him.

Jason stays quite still as she circles around past his right shoulder, utterly confused and more than a little put off. Suddenly, a heavy kick to the back of his leg forces him down to his knees. He falls straight back as Nyssa’s follow up strike passes where his face had been an instant before. Springing to his feet, Jason dodges a punch. He catches her arm, wrenching it back and delivering a pair of rapid blows to her solar plexus.

She falls to her knees, sharply jabbing her fingertips into Jason’s inner thigh, buckling his knee. He catches the chop she aims at his throat, jabbing her elbow to paralyze it and they’re both fighting without a limb.

They retreat from one another to regroup. Jason’s landed a few good hits, but he knows he’s outmatched. Nyssa doesn’t have Lady Shiva’s almost preternatural ability to predict her opponent’s moves by their body language, but she has lifetimes of experience and her technique is better. It occurs to him suddenly that Bruce is a very lucky man. If it weren’t for Ra’s al Ghul’s respect, he or Talia would’ve ended the bastard years ago.

Nyssa permits Jason a moment to catch his breath, then she rushes him. She covers the length of the room seemingly in an instant, aiming a flurry of blows that Jason can hardly follow, let alone counter. They’d been moving quickly before, but this is something else. She dodges a punch, rewarding Jason with a vicious elbow to the jaw. As he stumbles, she aims a brutal kick at his stomach.

He allows himself to fall, using his momentum to roll smoothly back to his feet. Before he can recover, she’s launching up from the floor, wrapping her legs around his neck. Using her own weight and momentum, she tucks the pair of them into a roll. When they stop, her knee is pressing into Jason’s throat. The fight is over.

Her fierce expression disappears so quickly it might never have been there. She bounces to her feet with an relaxed chuckle, offering a hand to pull him up as well.

“You’re much better than I thought you’d be,” she says with a grin, switching to Arabic. Her voice is completely different now, still powerful but without that strange resonance that had set his teeth on edge. “I apologize for the dramatics, by the way, but you looked so nervous I couldn’t resist having a little fun with you.”

Jason hears reserved laughter off to the left and sees Talia comfortably seated on the ground in the lotus position as she watches him. He shoots her a glare, but finds he actually rather enjoys making her laugh. It’s a familiar sort of sound and, secretly, he quite likes to hear it. It’s... reassuring somehow.

Now that no one’s attacking him, he takes the opportunity to study the training room. It’s less a room, he realizes, than a sort of covered platform. The ceiling is quite high over head, and stretches all the way to the edge of the large square. Aside from the wall behind him, which contains the entrance, the entire space is open. Looking to his left and right, he can see how it juts out from the rock face at a right angle.

Supported on only one side as it is, it has an uninterrupted view of the landscape on the other three, entirely open to the world. Aside from being a good place to train, it would be an ethereal place for meditation. In fact, Jason thinks that it was likely built with that in mind.

“A good fight, Jason,” Talia’s crisp voice interrupts him, “Especially in your current condition.”

Not bothering with a response, he sits cross-legged next to her, trying to focus his breathing. It’s always a challenge to quiet his mind. Every time he tries, there’s laughter and blood and _green_. It’s only thanks to Ducra that he can do it at all. She taught him to go deeper, that there _was_ something deeper, beneath the part of his mind that was screaming. It was hard but, once he was there, he could find his focus.

It had been strange, reacquainting himself with his body. The pit had restored his mind, healed his injuries, but it hadn’t taken his scars. They were part of him in a way not even the green could touch.

He feels them as he moves. Ropy tracks of scar tissue, rolling about beneath the skin. In downward dog, it feels like rocks are digging into his hands and feet. As he works through the warrior series, the autopsy scar stretches and pulls, tugging at the muscles in his chest and neck, writhing about below his collar bone. It all serves to remind Jason that, for all his restored health and vigor he is, essentially, a walking corpse.

In spite of himself, his thoughts went to the future. What should he do next, after he’s recovered his strength? Talia’s right about Bruce; Jason will never get what he wants from the man. But could he really just let go? He’d thought he’d be able to before, but knowing better hadn’t stopped him giving Bruce the gun, practically begging him to do the one thing Jason knew he never would. Every time he saw the man, he was fifteen years old again, wanting Bruce to be the father Willis never had.

“You’re thinking,” Talia’s voice came, soft and attentive in a way that Jason hadn’t been expecting. “You’re entirely too tense, and I know it’s not the poses you’re struggling with,” she continued, answering his unasked question. “This is neither the time nor place to brood.”

With a sigh, Jason forces himself back into focus, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. He hears Talia’s breathing, Nyssa’s too a little further away, feels warm stone beneath him, the ridges of mosaic tiles on the floor. Feels the hot, dry air rushing in from the desert, smells the cleanness of it.

Ducra had stressed using his senses as a way of grounding himself in the moment. She’d demanded he be aware of his surroundings at all times, but most especially while meditating. There was no laughter here, no timer counting down, no crowbar, no traitorous mother or too-slow father. There was no grave dirt, crushing and suffocating him. He was free.

He moves through the poses again, more present this time. His hiatus had unmoored his mind as well, but he could rediscover his center here.

 _“Funny to find hope in the house of killers,_ he thinks, _“Bruce would be so pissed.”_ The thought brings a smile to Jason’s face.

Finishing, he stands, rolling his shoulders and shaking himself. “Food?” he asks in a slightly pleading tone.

“Children,” Talia deadpans, shaking her head, “so needy.”

Jason chokes out an incredulous laugh. He’s seen traces of Talia’s dry humor before, but he’d never known her to joke so freely. Maybe she felt freer with her father’s passing, or maybe she liked having Nyssa so close. _“Or maybe,”_ whispers his inner optimist, _“she’s just fond of you.”_

He forces the thought down. Best not to get his hopes up. For a moment, Nyssa looks surprised as well. Then she’s chuckling along. “Best to feed him before he gets fussy.”

At this, Talia actually barks out a laugh. Jason laughs along, trying not to think too deeply about it.

Instead, he enjoys the plushness of Persian rugs beneath his feet as they walk, burgundy to complement the warm tan of the sandstone walls. The halls are bright as natural light pours in through skylights and the immense, window-shaped openings cut into the walls. At night, the braziers lining the walls are lit, filling the place with a warm, orange glow. It hardly ever rains and sand can be kept out with heavy curtains, so there isn’t any need for shutters or window panes. As a result, the air is always fresh and warm.

They choose to dine on Talia’s balcony. The table is long enough to seat six and Damian and Adira wait for them already. In the center is a plate piled with zaatar, a flatbread dusted with olive oil, sesame seeds, and spices. There is also plain pita and an assortment of fresh and dried fruit, jams, and cheeses to choose from. The breeze fails to disperse the rich scent coming from the pot of Turkish coffee.

Jason takes a seat next to Damian, near the middle of the table while, as the current heads of the household, Talia and Nyssa sit at opposite ends. Adira sits across from Jason.

In Nanda Parbat, prayers are said before each meal. The League is made up of a multitude of cultures and faiths, but its own creed stresses that each member stay strong in his or her connection with God. It helps not to lose oneself in all the killing. Jason himself had found that Judaism suited his worldview. He’s not converted yet, but Adira had taught him much of the philosophy while she taught him the language.

She leads Jason in the Brachot blessings while Talia and Damian recite Du’a together. Nyssa, conspicuously, says nothing at all.

“Will you not pray with us?” Adira questions, invitation mingling with curiosity in her voice.

“I’ve not prayed in a very long time,” she replies, tone kind but with a warning not to press.

Adira nods, not satisfied but willing to respect the clear boundary for now. As long as he’s known the young woman, faith has been important to her. She’s no evangelist and cares relatively little how others pursue God, but she’s always believed that a person needs some sort of connection, and Nyssa is a fellow Jew. It’s unlikely she’ll let this go so easily.

“Jason,” Nyssa asks, “What brought you here?”

He was quite certain she already knew, but understood her desire to change the subject. Still, it was a loaded question.

“I died,” he grimaces, “It didn’t stick.”

“That’s not much of an answer,” seemingly less caring of his boundaries than Adira had been of hers.

“It’s more than I give most people,” he replies, a little gruffer than he needs to. Broody ball of angst though he may be, the circumstances of his death and resurrection aren’t something he likes to dwell on. Still, he’s not lying.

“Appreciated,” she smiles, “but not precisely what I meant. As I understand it, you had a chance at your revenge. Why did you not take it?”

Her face shifts again, eyes challenging him. He’s not sure what her angle is, but she’s obviously trying to lead him to something.

“No offense,” he says, keeping a polite tone, “but why do you need to know?”

“I don’t,” she replies, surprisingly gentle, “You do. Think about it.”

God, the woman’s even more evasive than Talia. Knowing what he does of her backstory though, Jason understands. She’s experienced losses even he can’t relate to and yet, for a long time, he’d been just as closed off as she is now. Talia’s probably the only person he’s been truly open with and that’s mostly because she knows everything anyway. Jason decides he likes Nyssa and, somehow, he finds himself trusting her. Her reaction was too raw, too visceral, to have been a lie.

The tension fades into something far more comfortable. Conversation flows easily, shifting from literature to technology to philosophy and politics. The food is lovely as Jason remembers and he’s fairly certain he’s become as hooked on Turkish coffee as his father had been on cheap whiskey.

It was the first time in months Jason had felt anything like at home, and some dangerously hopeful part of him could almost believe he was part of a family.


	4. Chapter 4

“Say good morning,” Adira ordered.

“Доброе утро,” Jason replied clumsily. Normally he excelled at languages but Russian, in his expert opinion, was a bitch.

His companion let out a long-suffering sigh. They’d been at this for two hours now and he had made remarkably little progress. He could read and write well enough, but he butchered the hell out of his pronunciation.

Normally Nyssa taught him since Russian was her first language, but she was training Damian in close combat today and didn’t have the time. Adira had agreed to fill in on the condition that Jason help her practice her Spanish in return. Talia was in conference with the League’s Gotham branch, planning a way to get them out of the city.

Unsurprisingly, Bruce hadn’t taken his newly discovered son’s departure well. The Bats were in attack mode, bringing in any League members they could get their hands on. The delicate equilibrium that normally existed between the Bats and the League was shattered and the Demon’s Heads were working overtime to contain the damage.

Bruce was unlikely to come to Nanda Parbat for fear of a war he couldn’t win, but the League couldn’t easily bring the fight to Gotham either. They had the resources for it, but venturing into the city meant dealing with not only the Bats, but also the assortment of crazies they did such a poor job containing. An open confrontation with the Bats would most likely provoke an Arkham breakout. They couldn’t go in blind.

“We might as well quit now,” Adira groaned, “You’ll still be bad at this tomorrow.”

Jason huffed dramatically and raised his middle finger, grateful he’d thought to teach her the gesture. It was great for filling those gaps in a conversation where words just didn’t cut it.

All he got was a massive eye roll in response, but Adira couldn’t quite contain her laugh.

“Come on,” she said, “the kid’s been wanting a spar with you.”

He smiled at the thought. Damian had grown so much since Jason met him two years ago, and his skills improved all the time. And, no matter how serious he tried to be, Jason could always tell when he was having fun. There was a certain freeness in his movements, a lightness in his eyes, and sometimes, if you were lucky, the flash of a smile that could light the world.

Jason prayed he never lost that spark. The Red Hood was sardonic and cynical enough for the both of them.

The boy had gotten good in his absence, Jason noticed. Very good. He was still inexperienced, and Jason saw the flaws in his technique he would exploit but, compared to where he’d been a few months ago, his skill was remarkable.

They were practicing with staffs, though Damian best loved his katana. Jason had never understood it, finding the weapon’s two-handed configuration too constricting but, in the kid’s hands, it seemed natural. He was able to take advantage of his small size, using exceptional footwork to dance around his opponent, keeping himself free to attack. He was still young and the katana enabled him to compensate for his relative lack of strength.

The staff held the same advantage for him. Unfortunately, it came with the drawback of limited reach. Damian was roughly half his aunt’s size and his staff, naturally, had been crafted to match. Still, he was putting up an admirable fight, staying inside her reach to the best of his ability. Nyssa, of course, could end the fight whenever she wished but was prolonging it for teaching purposes, correcting his flaws rather than exploiting them fully.

They’d been going for quite some time, however, and Nyssa now saw fit to bring the session to an end. Damian lunged forwards, leading with the butt of his staff. She sidestepped deftly, trapping the weapon against her body and flinging it away from him. Before he could regain his balance, she swept his feet out from under him and placed the end of her staff on his throat, ending the match.

“Well done, Damian,” Nyssa smiled, “you’re improving. Show Jason what you’ve learned.”

Damian was allowed his training katana, so Jason took the opportunity to practice with his own swords, specially made to match the All Blades.

They took their places in the square, assessing one another. Damian, eager as Jason remembered, made the first move. His attacks came fast and furious, but Jason was impressed with his balance. He kept Jason guessing, getting close and using his size against him.

Jason let the boy lead, dodging and blocking his blows with relative ease, taking the time to feel out his technique. Damian’s first mistake was impatience. He lunged, slashing at Jason’s neck. The older boy simply leaned out of the way, using his sword to direct the katana away from himself. Damian stumbled and, while his back was turned, Jason struck.

He managed an impressive block over his shoulder to ward off Jason’s first strike, but there was little he could do to avoid the other sword as it took his feet from under him. He rolled quickly to his feet, but Jason was there, placing a sword on either side of his neck.

“You’re getting good, kid!” Jason enthused, meaning it. A few more years and the kid would be a nightmare to deal with.

“Of course I am,” the boy mumbled, turning his face to hide his reddening cheeks.

Jason found it adorable, but restrained himself from commenting him. Looking over the kid’s shoulder, he caught Nyssa’s amused smile and returned it.

It’s good, he thinks, seeing Damian like this, seeing him loved and cared for and as safe as someone with his background could ever be. He deserved it and Talia deserved to know she could provide it. Jason didn’t know if she believed it, but she was a good mother. Better, he imagines, than she has any right to be given the life she’s lived.

The end of their spar, Jason realizes, marks the end of his day and, with that thought, the stress he’s been ignoring comes rushing back. He needs to think. He congratulates Damian again, promises to read with him that night, and says his goodbyes to Nyssa and Adira.

What the hell is he doing here? What is he supposed to do next? After he came back, all he could focus on was revenge and, dark and heavy as it was, it gave him purpose. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look Bruce in the eyes and pull the trigger.

And now, the righteous anger that had been his fuel was gone and he was just tired. If he hadn’t come back to get revenge, then why is he here at all? He’s legally dead and, even if he wasn’t, he’s not exactly the same person he was before. The kid who thought of college, trying to decide between English and medicine, who thought of a life after the vigilante stuff, who wanted things, was dead. Who the hell was he supposed to be?

His mind was a mess but, apparently, his feet knew where they wanted to go. The cliff where Talia used to bring him before the pit, where they would sit and watch the sunset and she would tell him, in that gentle tone she’d used with him then, about all the things he had missed. It was where she had promised to help him, and to take him home. It was one of the few things he remembered from that time.

He sat down on the ledge, the way they used to do, but his feet dangled off the edge in a way Talia would’ve never allowed. He looked down then and wondered, for a moment, if it might be better just to fall. After all, he’d already died. Was he even supposed to be back? Maybe everything going to hell was some kind of cosmic punishment for breaking the natural order of things.

He looked down a moment more, then pulled back from the edge, sitting cross-legged a little further back. From here, the sunset was incalculably beautiful, all red and pink and purple across the open sky, fading gently to blue. The dust was heavy in the air, a sandstorm some miles away, and the sun appeared as a great red disk, merging with the ground somewhere beyond the horizon.

Strange that this, in spite of all the bad he could connect to it, had become one of his favorite places in the entire world.

“Jason,” Talia greeted softly, moving to join him. “I never told you why I used to bring you and Damian here. You can see the world from up here, none of the bad parts, only the beauty. All that possibility, laid out before you. Life is hard but, with hope, it becomes beautiful. People like Nyssa and I have hope for others. I wanted you to have hope for yourselves.”

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Talia,” Jason says miserably. “Everything I worked for is gone and I don’t know where to go.”

To his utter shock, Talia gently cups his head, and brings it down to her shoulder, inviting him to lean against her. She had rarely touched him in the past, almost never to comfort but, as she seems perfectly comfortable, Jason allows himself to relax. He finds himself practically in her lap, her arms around him as she holds him the way he’s sometimes seen her holding Damian.

“I know you are afraid Jason. I would be too, in your shoes, but it will be fine. I am here to provide anything you need. If you wished it, you could have identification made. You could go to school if you wished it. You could work with us here. You could do both. Your life can be whatever you want it to be Jason. You are young still. This is not an end, but a beginning and, when you are ready, I know you will seize it admirably.”

“Why are you helping me like this?” he asks, not knowing why she’d do so much for him and ask nothing in return.”

“If I didn’t prepare you to face the world, my dear,” she smiles, “I wouldn’t be much of a mother.”

And jason’s world stops spinning.

His mind whirls. He’s panicking. Half of him wants to run, but he goes completely still. Talia just said- Does he want her to be? Does he trust her?

Yes, he wants it more than anything. And, somehow, he believes in her, much as someone like him could, anyway. He realizes then, with terrifying certainty, that he would still love her even if she betrayed him. He would willingly die for any of them, even if they wouldn’t do it for him.

Talia must notice how tense he’s gotten but she doesn’t react, just holding him loosely so he can run if he wants to, almost like she was expecting this. Of course she was. She wouldn’t have said anything without knowing how he’d react, without knowing how to respond so he’d feel secure and, if anything, that makes him trust her more. He doesn’t feel manipulated, so much as understood.

He allows himself to relax then, nestling into her. His own mother hadn’t protected him. Catherine tried but, in the end, she hadn’t even been able to protect herself. But he knew in his bones that he’d finally found someone who would.

Some part of him will always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. That fear has been burned into him like a brand. But it‘s good to know he‘s loved like this, even if he can only half believe it.

She holds him close then, tightly so he could never be ripped away, and he holds her too, burying his face in shoulder. She’s warm and strong and smells of coffee and spice. In that moment, if only for a moment, Jason feels safer than he can ever remember.


	5. Chapter 5

For the first time in a very long time, Jason can truly say he‘s happy. Even so, the following days aren’t without complications. He‘s constantly unsure around his ‘new’ family. They aren’t actually new, he supposes, since nothing much has changed, but that hadn’t kept his heart from stopping the first time Damian called him “brother.” When Nyssa ended a lesson with the words “well done, nephew,” he’d fought to suppress a flinch.

Their dynamic hasn’t changed. They treated him the same as they had always done, but everything felt different. He was never sure how to act around them anymore. Did Talia want to be called ‘mom’ or would that make her uncomfortable? Could he say he was an al Ghul or was he just a stray they’d taken in?

Logically, he knew he was overreacting but, like he’d been when Bruce had taken him in all those years ago, he was terrified to mess it up. He feared making a mistake they wouldn’t forgive him for. He didn’t think he could take being abandoned again.

It was these thoughts that drove him to Adira’s door. As someone outside the family she was, in his mind, the only person he could speak openly to without causing offense. He knocked softly on the heavy oak door, offering a nervous smile when she appeared. They hadn’t often shared anything as personal as this and he hoped she wouldn’t turn him away.

“Jason,” she acknowledged as she opened the door.

She stepped back to let him in and invited him to join her on the sofa, an elegant deep red piece that suited the soft beige of the walls nicely.

Adira’s room, it seemed to Jason, was quite a good representation of the woman herself. A simple mezuzah hung on each doorpost, a small bookshelf against the wall opposite the sofa and chair, no television, a sleek black coffee table in the middle. As in his suite, the bedroom and bathroom were separate. It was comfortable, cozy even, but also spartan and pragmatic. A tapestry hung on one wall, a couple of generic pictures on the other, nothing to give a hint of her life.

“What can I do for you,” she questioned, pouring them each a cup of tea from the kettle on the table.

“Talia basically adopted me,” he answered nervously, “and I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Adira cocked her head slightly in puzzlement. Whether she was thrown by his question or because he had asked it, Jason didn’t know. She watched him carefully for a moment, and he resisted the urge to fidget under the scrutiny.

“Were you not previously adopted by Bruce Wayne?” she asked carefully, “What makes this different?”

Jason took a sip of his tea, soothing his dry mouth before he answered. “He did adopt me and, actually, I was scared then too. I knew I was a charity case, and I was afraid if I did something wrong he’d toss me back out on the streets. I’m afraid something like that will happen now. The difference is that it was easier with Bruce. Everything was about the mission. When he asked about my grades, he was making sure I was available as Robin. He knew I needed to eat and sleep and, if I was comfortable, I was more likely to do those things adequately. If we talked about emotional stuff, it was to make sure I wasn’t compromised. I know he loved me in his own way, but the part of him that‘s supposed to actually connect is broken. He didn’t know how to be a father, and I wasn’t ready to be a son. But Talia isn’t like that. This family isn’t. They love and support each other in a way that Bruce could never do for me and I don’t know what to do with it. I almost had to leave the room because Damian called me ‘brother.’”

The young woman continued to watch him, seeming to see right through. He was surprised to find that it didn’t much bother him. “What about Wayne’s other child, Richard Grayson?”

“What about him? We were never really family. Dick was angry at Bruce for replacing him (even though he left first) and he took a lot of that out on me. We fought constantly. He thought of me as an interloper and I thought I had to earn my place. I wasn’t really used to sharing back then.”

Adira nods, sips from her cup. “So you traded an extremely dysfunctional team for a loving family, but you’re more afraid of losing this one than the last. I understand how you feel Jason, but you’re being ridiculous.” She leans forward, covering his hand with her own. “Family is nothing but the people who know you deeply enough to see the flaws but love you anyway. These people know you like you know yourself and, if they didn’t love you as you are, they wouldn’t have made you a part of their house. They don’t expect you to change, Jason. They care for you _because_ of who you are. Just continue to be yourself. That’s the person they love.”

She held his gaze a moment longer, making sure he’d taken the words to heart. He had. Jason had known logically the things she had said, but hearing them from another person helped. To know it himself, as someone who had never had a functional family, was one thing. To hear it from someone he respected was another. It seemed more real when someone else said it, like their acknowledging it was confirmation that it truly existed.

“Thank you, Adira,” he said genuinely, “I just... I needed to hear someone say it.”

“Of course, Jason.”

They studied each other for a moment. Jason fought the urge to fidget. Adira perched uncomfortably on the edge of her seat. Neither of them was the sharing type. He forced a shuddering cough past the lump in his throat and stood up a little too quickly.

“Thank you again,” he said softly, smiling down at his shoes.

She offered a small smile in return and he showed himself out.

Jason needed some time to himself to clear his head. There’s a coffee house in the village he used to visit. Jason had found that it was a good place to go when he needed to get out of his own head. It was always busy and filled with the low drone of conversation, and he had found that the noise and energy of it had a way of forcing him out of his thoughts.

He returned to his suite for shoes and money and left a short note for Talia on his door to explain his absence. The only way to leave the compound without climbing the cliff face was a rocky, winding goat path from the servants’ quarters that would deposit him on southernmost end of the natural barrier surrounding the village.

Jason followed it with sure feet, then took a wide loop out into the desert so that, by the time he became visible from the village, he appeared to be a traveler from khadym, another village to the south. He wore a white turban and scarf with long robes, ostensibly to protect against the sand, but actually to hide his face.

He was known in the village as the young Spanish boy who had come to work for Lady Talia, the daughter of a wealthy sheikh who had chosen to run his oil fields from this village. This persona was a well-liked individual, sociable, respectful, helpful. Today, he didn’t want to be any of those things. He didn’t really want to be anything. He just wanted to disappear for an hour or so, then he could go back to figuring out his new life.

The market at midday was a sea of bodies clad in brightly colored robes, moving back and forth like waves as Jason waded through. The cries of hagglers ringing out in outrage or happiness, depending on the state of the deal. Dealers kept their wares on display beneath colored tarps, crowing about them to any who would listen. Cookware, tools, furniture, spices, and anything else a person could need all, of course, of the very highest quality.

It was chaotic, but strangely peaceful and unhurried, the air filled with bright colors, sounds, and smells so very different from the oppressive, soul crushing gloom of his birthplace. Jason loved it.

The coffee house was on the far side of the market, tucked away so that, if you didn’t know it was there, you’d never find it.

Jason entered, sliding up to the counter and ordering himself a pot. He took his favorite seat in the corner, putting the wall at his back and making himself unnoticeable. There, he could see without being seen. It made him feel safe.

It was as busy as always and the air was filled with conversation and tobacco smoke. He didn’t care for the smell, but the strong Turkish coffee was just enough to keep it at bay. Besides, if he couldn’t stand a little smoke, he’d have died before he was eight.

He sat low in his chair, sipping his coffee and listening to the old men at the next table debate World Cup odds. One thought Brazil would win while the other was convinced the UAE would take it. The third just looked very bored, obviously having heard this debate many times before.

Jason happened to look towards the door as an American tourist barged through it. He wore a snap back with shaggy black hair spilling out from underneath and a pair of tacky plastic sunglasses and was snapping pictures on his cellphone

Jason watched in annoyance as he loudly ordered “the strongest brew you’ve got,” exclaiming loudly that he’d never tried “real Arabic coffee” before

His annoyance grew as the young man approached his table and asked in that loud, slow tone Americans use with people who don’t speak English if he could sit.

Replying in Arabic, Jason told him exactly where he could stick the coffee pot and glared sharply. The idiot flopped down anyway and poured himself a cup.

“I’m here on a school trip,” he continued in that same loud tone, “thank you for welcoming me to your country.”

The look on Jason’s face should’ve told him exactly how unwelcome he was.

So it continued. The idiot yammered and Jason glowered. He forced himself to remain calm, sipping his coffee slowly. Never mind that his grip was nearly breaking the cup at this point and his vision was tinged with green, he was calm, tranquil. Breathe, breathe... Slowly... Talia would be upset if he made a scene. The owners would need weeks to repair their shop. He was calm.

Slowly, his mood stabilized. His vision returned to normal, and he began to watch the other boy more carefully. There was something about the way he held himself, just a little too nervous. Sure he was in a foreign country and didn’t speak the language. Sure Americans had a well-developed fear of the Arab world. But this felt different. Few would’ve noticed, but Jason had been an expert in reading body language since long before he became Robin. He’d had to be.

Even as he babbled, gesturing clumsily, Jason could see that he was coiled like a spring. He was ready to move, to fight. Behind his sunglasses, Jason knew, his eyes roved ceaselessly. His oversized t-shirt had hidden it before, but he was pure lean muscle.

Jason was infinitely grateful for his large robes and flawless accent. No doubt the other boy had noticed his glare, but Jason was fairly sure he hadn’t noticed anything else.

Whoever this guy was, he was obviously here for the League. Jason had to get back.

Forcing himself not to hurry, he finished the last of his coffee. As he moved to stand, the stranger reached up to adjust his glasses and Jason caught a flash of too-bright sapphire eyes.

_Grayson._


	6. Chapter 6

Jason broke into a sprint once he was out of sight of the village. Grayson was obviously here for Damian. All of the Bats wanted the boy back but Bruce, at least, understood the delicacy of the situation. His bleeding heart son, on the other hand, seemed to have taken it upon himself to rescue Damian from his supposedly evil mother. 

Fully in Red Hood mode, he burst into Talia’s suite unannounced. “Grayson is in the village,” he panted.

Moving decisively, Talia ushered him to sit at the small wood slatted table in the corner, taking the seat across from him while he caught his breath. As soon as she perceived he was capable, she demanded he tell her everything.

Concisely, he recounted his trip to the coffee house, his encounter with Grayson posing as an American tourist, and his wild rush to deliver the news.

“Did he come alone?” she asked in a clipped, all-business tone.

“It seemed so,” he replied, matching it.

“You didn’t see the other boy?” she questioned tensely.

“No. I couldn’t have checked without exposing myself since the Bats don’t know I’m here. It’s unlikely that Drake would’ve come; I understand he still trusts Bruce’s judgement.”

“He’s most likely here to collect Damian,” Talia inferred. “I’ll expect him to come after nightfall. He believes he remains anonymous, so he has no reason to wait. Until then, we will carry on as normal. Keep watch over Damian tonight and we will be on standby to support you should you need it. I understand the two of you were going to spend the evening together anyway.”

With a plan in place, she relaxed somewhat. “You did well, Jason,” she smiled, standing to pull him into a strong hug.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a tense attempt at normalcy. The family scarcely left one another’s sight. Talia brewed Darjeeling for the group. She made the best show of being unconcerned, but the clench in her jaw said otherwise.

Jason engaged Damian in a game of chess, but neither of their hearts was quite in it. Even at home, the Bats wouldn’t leave Bruce’s youngest alone and Jason could see it was taking its toll.

For his part, Jason hadn’t been prepared to see Dick again. He‘d known it would be impossible, but a part of him had hoped he’d be able to put the Bats behind him. And now they were coming for his brother. Jason knew he could defeat Nightwing. He just hoped he wouldn’t freeze when the time came.

Adira and Nyssa had taken the floor, a deck of cards between them dealt out for a game Jason didn’t know. They spoke in hushed tones. The older woman was clearly tense, listening to what seemed to be an earnest plea on the part of the younger. Perhaps Adira had picked this as the time to reopen the topic of Nyssa’s faith. If nothing else, Jason supposed, reopening old wounds was a hell of a distraction.

Talia was right. They needed to relax. Nothing could be accomplished by worrying.

“Hey Damian,” Jason grinned, “watch a movie with me.”

“What film are you suggesting?” he asked tersely.

“It’s an animated movie, ‘Shark Tale,’” Jason answered readily. He’d been wanting to show the film to his brother for a while.

“I’m not a child, Jason,” his face crinkled in exasperation, “Why should I watch a children’s movie?”

“Excuse me?” Jason countered with false ire, “‘Shark Tale’ happens to be one of my three favorite movies of all time. Besides, it’s good for you to understand western pop culture. Come on,” he pleaded facetiously, "I bet everyone else would watch with us.”

Picking up on his ruse, Talia stepped in. “I think it’s a good idea, Damian. As the only one of us born in the United States, your brother is the most qualified to introduce you to its customs.”

And, that’s how five of the most dangerous people alive found themselves piled together in bed watching Will Smith play an animated fish. A part of of Jason wanted to laugh at the absurdity but, somehow, this actually felt right.

Talia held Damian on her lap while Jason’s head rested heavy on her shoulder. Nyssa lay at her sister’s other side while Adira casually reclined against Jason’s knees.

The boy would probably never admit it, but Jason could tell Damian was enjoying the film. Everyone pretended not to notice his head bobbing slightly at the film’s brilliant soundtrack and the smile he was just barely holding in.

“Adequate choice, brother,” he said after the film had ended, “The plot and voice acting were surprisingly solid and I admit that the soundtrack suited it well. Christina Aguilera is a talented singer. It seems that a few gems are forged beneath the pressure of America’s rampant consumer culture.”

Jason smiled broadly. That was the highest compliment the boy’s pride would allow him to give. More importantly, that pervasive nervous energy had largely dissipated.

It was out of character for all of them, doing something so domestic, but it was for Damian’s sake. He still had some of the innocence they had lost and they would do anything to protect that.

Night had fallen now and the others filed out, leaving Jason to watch over Damian while he slept.

“Good night, Jason,” the boy said blearily from beneath the covers where their mother had left him.

“Good night, Damian,” he smiled fondly.

He took the chair in the corner, out of sight of someone standing on the balcony and began his vigil. He held the kris Talia had given him loosely in his lap. A handgun rested comfortably at his hip, just in case things got out of hand.

Jason found that his earlier nervousness had shifted to anticipation. Grayson had come to take his little brother away and he was pissed. He was looking forward to giving the asshole a long overdue beating.

Grayson didn’t keep him waiting long. Jason was fortunate to catch the almost imperceptible sound of acrobat’s feet slapping the sandstone. An instant later, a tranquilizer dart was impaled against the wall by Jason’s blade.

He stepped quickly around the corner, attacking before Nightwing could process what had happened. A sharp jab to the throat followed by several rapid blows to the stomach. Jason wasn’t fighting to kill; now wasn’t the time to make a mess.

Desperately, Grayson shoved him away, allowing himself a moment to analyze the threat and draw his escrima sticks. Jason heard the crackle as electricity courses along them.

Seeing his face, Grayson stumbled. “What the hell...” he started, “Jason?”

Jason didn’t reply, refusing to be distracted. He had nothing to say tonight. Two shots and the escrima sticks shattered in Grayson’s hands.

He leapt back in, the pleas on Grayson’s lips dying as he was forced to defend himself. Nightwing was fast, strong, agile, and very skilled but his flaw, as ever, was his showmanship. It had never been enough for him just to win a fight, he had to dazzle his opponents with complicated flips, dancing around them and leaving them looking foolish. That strategy worked on Cinderblock, big and slow as he was. It would not work on Jason.

He used his body, backing Nightwing into a corner and forcing him fight straight on. Grayson was good but he rarely had to fight like this, using technical skill rather than acrobatics. Jason kept his movements quick and efficient, striking critical points with surgical precision.

The older man put up a good fight but, all too soon, he was on his knees, coughing up blood from his cracked ribs. Before Jason could make the final blow, Damian waved him off. Rigid with anger, fire in his eyes, the boy delivered a vicious kick to Grayson’s head.

He stood there a moment longer, shaking with rage. Then the dam broke and he collapsed into his brother’s side, soaking his bed shirt with angry tears. Jason held him close, reminding him that no one could take him away.

Jason understood. The Bats believed they were protecting Damian, but they hadn’t given him a choice in the matter. The idea that they would come and take him from his home, that they wouldn’t take no for an answer and he had no power to stop them, was a terrifying one. He deserved better. He wasn’t just some _thing_ to be fought over or passed back and forth. He wasn’t property.

Jason knew the Bats would never understand this. They would never give Damian peace and, now that Grayson had found Jason here, they’d never leave him alone either. He’d wanted to be able to simply leave that part of his life behind, but it seemed determined to drag him back in kicking and screaming. This had to end. For Damian. For himself, For all of them.


	7. Chapter 7

Jason entered the main conference room, taking the open seat next to Nyssa. Talia sat across the table and, at this hour, Damian was most likely with a tutor.

This was the place where much of the Demon’s Heads’ planning was done. A long table stretched across it from end to end, surrounded on each side by state-of-the-art interactive monitors. Each had enough processing power to rival the Bat-Computer, with the added bonus of fully integrated touch and voice commands.

The table itself was also a technological marvel. It was a sturdy wooden construction, dark and clearly expensive, but what was special about it was the top. A minute layer of glass covered it, forming an ultra-thin screen. More than being just a simple display, however, it was also a massive projector, capable of producing fully interactive three-dimensional structures. It was also scratch-proof for those who preferred pen and paper. Talia, like Jason, was a bit old-fashioned.

At the moment, the space between them was filled with a projection of Dick Grayson in his cell attempting to converse with Adira. Jason watched as he gave her his most charming pretty-boy smile, the one that entranced naive girls and made Jason want to punch his teeth in, and launched into some speech. He spoke emphatically, probably something about how he could see the good in Adira, about how she didn’t have to stay with such monsters, about how she could be a hero like him.

He spoke quickly, but Jason was able to make out “ _Better than them_ ,” and “ _Come to_ _Gotham_ ,” on his lips.

Frankly, it pissed Jason off. How dare Grayson assume Adira was just some airhead he could manipulate?

Clearly, Adira thought the same as the back of her hand cracked Grayson hard across the face. He was much quieter after that.

“So what do we do with him?” Jason asked.

“I’m inclined to send him back to his father in pieces,” Nyssa replied, “but, if I were going to start a war with the Bats, I’d prefer to do it with the element of surprise.”

“We return him to Bruce unharmed,” Talia said decisively, “Unless we wish for an open confrontation, it is the only option.”

“Something needs to be done,” Jason interjected. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I want to put it all behind me: Bruce, the Joker, Gotham, all of it. But I haven’t been able to let go. I wanted revenge on the Joker. I wanted the Bats to take me back. I wanted Bruce to admit he was wrong and actually do the job he promised to do. I wanted impossible things. And, now that I’m finally ready to move on, Grayson comes here and tries to break _my_ family apart. Enough is enough. I can’t move forward with the Bats hanging over my head and I can’t move forward while Gotham’s still a battleground. I’m tired of the war and I want to end it.”

The room was silent as Jason stood, hands on the table, breathing heavily like he’d been shouting. He must’ve stood up at some point. His mother and aunt both looked a little stunned at his outburst.

“Yes!” Nyssa shouted, surprising him by throwing her arms around him, “Finally, you have found yourself!”

“What is it you wish to do?” Talia asked.

“I want to clear the board,” Jason replied, “Villains and heroes. Things need to change.”

“Do you have a plan?” his mother questioned.

“Getting there,” he replied, “I need to make a call.”

She nodded, satisfied for now.

“We’ll support you, nephew,” Nyssa promised, “anything you need.”

“I’ll be accompanying you, of course,” Talia added, equal parts promise and order. Jason knew better than to even think of arguing.

“Thank you,” he said softly, hugging them both. “I’ll go give Grayson the good news.”

He left the room, heading quickly for Grayson’s cell, stealing himself as he did so. He wasn’t ready for this, but it was time to put things to bed. Outside the room, Adira stood waiting for him to arrive. It looked like she couldn’t leave soon enough.

“He’s an irritating little bastard, isn’t he?” she said as she passed him in the hallway. “Best of luck,” she grinned, glad to pass Bruce’s golden child off on someone else.

“Well, Dickie,” Jason said as he entered, “it looks like you’re going home.”

“Not without Damian,” Grayson snarled.

Jason laughed darkly. “I’d take the plea deal, Grayson. Nyssa wanted to send you back to Gotham in little chunks, like cat food.”

“Please Jason, he can’t stay here,” Grayson tried to reason.

“Did you think of asking him what he wants?” Jason asked, “I mean, he did go to a lot of trouble to get back here.”

“Jason, he’s brainwashed!” Grayson cried in anguish, “He doesn’t know what he wants!”

“Or maybe it’s you who can’t think for himself,” Jason countered, “When was the last time _you_ had an independent thought?“

“ _Please_ , Littlewing, just help me bring him home.”

“We are home,” Jason replied stonily.

“The manor is your home,” Grayson argued.

“You spent a lot of time trying to convince me otherwise.”

The older man flinched as if he’d been struck, sagging against his bonds. “You know she’s just using you right?” he asked bitterly.

And there was the sullen, condescending Dick Grayson he remembered so well. A younger Jason would’ve felt the need to defend his choices. This one had no need for approval.

“You’re shipping out in the morning,” he informed Grayson coldly.

With that Jason walked away, leaving Grayson, strapped to a chair in his cramped, dark cell. It was the end of his shift.

Jason returned to his room and took out his cell phone. It had been years and he just had to hope she hadn’t changed the number. And that she’d forgive him for not telling her he was back.

_“Hello?”_

“Hi, ummm... It’s Jason Todd. I’m going to be in Gotham in five days. Can we meet?”

A long, heavy sigh crackles across the line.

_“The old place in Park Row, Saturday at midnight. If you really are Jason, you’ll be there.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! Apologies for the short chapter. This chapter is transitionary and the length should pick up again in the following ones. We're about to get into the meat of the plot now. Hope you enjoy!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll, I'm sorry it's been so long. Finals kind of caught up with me. This is the longest chapter I've ever written, so I hope that makes up for it ;-)

The decision was made to fly into Gotham Saturday morning. They’d arrive at 6:00pm, leaving time to establish themselves at a safe house. Talia had quietly acquired an old apartment building in Crime Alley for the occasion. The purchase had been made by a humanitarian organization looking to start a shelter for battered women. Oracle would see through it eventually, but it would buy them the time they needed.

They would land at Lex Luthor’s private airstrip outside city limits. The man was a prick, but he was one of the few people who’s privacy the Bats had to have at least some respect for and he owed Talia a favor.

Jason was in his study cleaning his guns, the grease rag sliding deftly over the components. He’d done it ten times now and they were already spotless. It was a nervous habit he’d developed when he’d started to seriously use firearms, but the roots went far deeper. His constant, almost obsessive need to prepare had kept him alive. If he had allowed himself to die, there would have been no one to take care of his mother. 

His whole life had been spent caring for the people who were meant to care for him. Catherine, Bruce, even the citizens of Gotham. Jason had never learned to value his own life. What Bruce had seen as rage and recklessness was really Jason’s desire to protect and his inability to place his own life ahead of another. Jason knew how to care for everyone but himself.

And now he was preparing for something new. For the first time in his life, he realized suddenly, he was doing something for himself. Gotham may not have been done with him, but he was done with it. He was going to end all the insanity. He was going to be free. A huge smile crept across his face. _He was going to be free!_ For the first time in his life, he would be able to actually live for _himself_.

He walked across the hall to Talia’s suite, throwing the door open. She was sitting at the coffee table, a map of Gotham spread out before her. Her head snapped up at his loud entrance but, seeing his smile, she relaxed. He barged in impulsively and swept her into a huge hug, clinging to her like a lifeline. “Thank you,” he whispered.

_Thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for loving me even when I don’t love myself. Thank you for teaching me how to live._

She stiffened for a moment at the very un-Jason-like gesture, then held him just as fiercely. “Anything, always.” She kissed his cheek, then let him go.

“It’s nearly time to leave,” Jason said a little awkwardly. He still struggled with initiating contact, always afraid it would be unwanted.

“The plane is loaded,” she replied, standing with him, “The car is waiting. 

“What about Damian?” Jason asked carefully. He knew his brother would want to help and, despite his young age, he was more than capable. Still, Jason didn’t feel right dragging the boy into his battles.

“He will stay behind with Nyssa. He should not have to fight his own father, no matter how much Bruce has failed to behave like one.”

“He won’t take that well,” Jason commented.

“He will not,” Talia agreed with a droll smile, “but children are portable. It’s time.”

Talia’s car met them at the bottom of the cliff, Nyssa, Adira, and Damian already inside.

Damian had taken the window seat, placing Adira between himself and everyone else, having clearly identified her as the non-guilty party in the plot to keep him in Nanda Parbat. He looked pointedly out the window. A deep scowl formed on his small face, pulling his eyebrows together and pinching the corners of his mouth adorably. But, of course, he did not _pout_.

_“Cranky baby,”_ Adira mouthed to Jason as he opened the door for his mother, scrunching her face up comically. Jason’s hand flew to his mouth as he covered a snort. 

Talia slid in next to her sister, leaving Jason to sit in the front. As the car pulled smoothly onto the road and the cliffs of Nanda Parbat slid off into the distance, Jason was overcome with a sense of déjà vu. The last time he’d left this place, he’d been a completely different person. He’d been angry then, wanting revenge on the Joker, wanting Bruce to understand him, wanting to go home. Now, he was a new person with a new home and a new family. He’d finally let go of his rage and accepted that Bruce was never going to change. He’d finally moved on.

Jason stared out the window. He really had come to love this place. At a glance the desert looked lifeless but, if you watched and waited, life would reveal itself. It appeared harsh and dead but, deep beneath the blowing sands, it hid water enough for every living thing it contained.

It reminded him of Talia. On the surface, she could be as changeable and untethered as the life she’d led, but at her core was a deep well of compassion. She didn’t love often, but she loved fiercely and she would die for her people. She was a rock. More and more, Jason found himself leaning on her strength.

They rolled onto the tarmac and exited the car. The early morning sun hung low on the horizon and the air was still cool from the night before. Their shadows were long in the dawn gloom. Jason was glad he’d thought to bring a jacket.

He stood next to Talia in front of the plane door, the others watching them in a sort of standoff. Damian was the first to move. He threw himself into the arms of his mother and brother. Angry as he was, he wouldn’t let them leave without a proper sendoff. He was well aware that, every time one of them left Nanda Parbat, there was a very real possibility they might not return.

“Don’t come back until you’ve won,” he said firmly.

“I won’t let you down, Damian,” Jason swore, kissing his hair. 

“I love you, my son,” Talia told Damian. From her, that was promise enough.

Nyssa stepped forward next, embracing her sister firmly and whispering something Jason couldn’t hear. Then she turned to Jason, pulling him into a warm embrace.

“You’ve given me a reason to pray again, Jason Todd,” she whispered. “I’m glad you’ve become a part of our family.”

“Thank you, Nyssa,” he replied, squeezing her tightly.

“Good luck, nephew. Finish it.”

“I will.”

“Good,” she smiled, letting him go. 

“I’m coming with you, Jason,” Adira said, staring him down.

“This isn’t your fight,” he argued.

“Are you certain? Maybe I have my own score to settle in Gotham. Or maybe, I won’t allow someone I care for to fight alone.”

“You’ll never tell me, will you?” Jason chuckled ruefully.

“Someday,” she stepped close, putting a hand on his cheek, “you and I will have no secrets.”

“What happens then?” he asked breathily.

“Wait and see,” she smiled. “Right,” she said, slipping easily back into business mode, “Come on. Work to do.”

With that, she lead the way onto the plane.

“I’ll be vetting her _thoroughly_ ,” Talia growled, but her eyes were smiling.

Clearing his head with a sharp shake, Jason followed them.

XXX 

He knew where they were the moment they stepped off the plane. There was no mistaking Gotham’s distinctive scent of smog and death. Even here, a mile outside the city, it was all-consuming. Orange light pierced the great grey clouds which smothered the old city and one could only just make out the silhouettes of skyscrapers as they pierced into the gloom. A great winged symbol was painted across the dark sky like it had been almost every night for as long as Jason could remember.

The green stirred, growling and scratching at the walls of Jason’s mind. He felt the weight of Adira’s hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

Instead of the usual Bentley or Rolls, a mid ‘90s Corolla sat waiting. Half the front bumper was missing and it was the color of a fading bruise. Talia slid gracefully into the driver’s seat. Jason took shotgun while Adira clambered into the back seat, which was cramped even for her petite frame. The interior was choked with the smell of stale weed and Jason quickly opened a window. It reminded him of the first car he’d ever stolen.

The ride into Gotham was fairly short as Talia avoided the freeways. She knew her way around nearly as well as Jason himself. Now that he thought about it, he was sure she could pass for a native in every major city on earth. He could get by in most of them, though Russia and Central Asia were still a challenge.

Being back in the city of Jason’s birth, driving through the grey jungle of skyscrapers and slums in a stolen car was jarring. It had been just months since he was last here, but it felt different. Gotham had a certain grip on the people who lived there. It was a place of soul-crushing hopelessness that could grab hold of a person and never let go. Even in his best moments, Jason had never really been able to escape its oppressive grip. 

Now though, it felt foreign. He could still feel the corruption, but it seemed outside himself in a way it never had before. He had somehow escaped the dark gravity that had held him all his life. The city no longer owned him. 

Park Row was the same decrepit hellhole as ever, the infected, rotting core of the gaping wound that was Gotham. The buildings were crumbling wrecks with broken windows and yellow-taped doors. Most should’ve been torn down years ago, but nobody wanted to start new construction in Crime Alley. They drove past an old homeless lady pushing her shopping cart and a junky passed out in an alleyway next to his needle. The sound of gunshots echoed from a few blocks over.

As they got deeper into Jason’s old neighborhood, the yellow tape died out. Police didn’t venture this far in, just focused on containing the damage. They couldn’t clean the place up, but they could try to stop the shit from spreading. Even the Bats didn’t come here. Apart from his yearly pilgrimage, Bruce couldn’t face being so close to where his parents died. Jason found that a little funny; when Catherine died, he’d had nowhere to run.

Talia stopped in front of an unassuming brick structure, squatting between a laundromat and a liquor store. Wordlessly, they got out of the car and walked inside. The interior was in shambles, like someone had started to renovate but given up halfway through. The individual floors had been stripped out, leaving an opening to the roof. The area was covered with scaffolding and hanging tarps, and visibility came from industrial halogen lights, strewn across the floor.

In the center of the room, a series of computer monitors stood on tables. Some appeared to be picking up traffic cams, while others displayed maps, of the city, news feeds, and up-to-date files on the city’s various underworld activities. Along one wall, a small armory of swords, knives, guns, and explosives stood. Plexiglass cases held their respective armors-of-choice. In the other corner, racks of civilian clothes stood. And finally, in the back, army-style cots sat, looking businesslike and uncomfortable. They were ready for war.

“How the hell did your people get all of this in here without getting caught?” Adira asked Talia incredulously.

“It’s their job,” she answered, just a little smug. 

It was half-past eleven now, and Jason had a meeting to get to. He quickly strapped on his body armor before slipping into the leather jacket and helmet which had become his signature. He left his companions with a promise to be back quickly before climbing out an upper window.

The rooftops of Gotham welcomed him back like the Prodigal Son. Throughout his teens, their slate peaks and crumbling gargoyles had been a second home. The anachronism of Gothic architecture within the modern city felt like something out of a particularly inventive novel and, in his lighter moments, Jason had liked to picture himself as the protagonist in some grand adventure story. The reality of his situation, of course, had always been far more grim. He’d been nothing but a child soldier in Bruce’s endless war, doomed to die before his time.

Jason quickly fell into a rhythm, enjoying his run across the rooftops. He jumped and rolled fluidly, going for speed rather than showmanship. Dick flew across the rooftops, all smiles and flash like a performer. Bruce stalked them, methodical and efficient, like a hunter. Jason ran them with abandon, like a thief trying to escape with his prize.

He slid quietly down the slope of a worn slate roof, stopping himself on the edge. Across the way, the window of the old apartment. He was here. Before he could talk himself out of it, he gently pried open the window and slipped into the room. 

It was just as he remembered, white walls decorated sparingly with stolen paintings. A beaten black couch facing the tv in the corner. A tiny kitchen that barely had enough room for the fridge and stove. The counter, piled with papers, blueprints, and empty, unwashed coffee mugs. And, of course, the cat, a Siamese perched regally on the back of the couch, glaring at him. Madame Pele, it seemed, had not forgiven his absence.

The three women on the couch stood in unison, moving to face him.

Jason’s helmet unlocked with a pneumatic hiss as he pulled it off. “Hey, Selina,” he said nervously. 

“Birdie,” Selina gasped.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” he smiles.

“I thought I’d never get to say it again,” she replied with a wet laugh, pulling him into a crushing hug.

And Jason was taken back to late night pizza runs and crashing on her couch on nights when Bruce was an ass, to holding Madame Pele and curling up under a blanket while they watched movies. Selina had been one of the very few people in Jason’s life who could understand him, who even really tried. They’d been on opposite sides then and there was only so much she could do, but she’d looked out for him back in the day. He hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed her.

“Hello, Jason,” Pamela greeted with that same reserved little smile she’d given him the day Selina introduced them out of uniform.

He remembered gardening with her, and the way she would stop and listen when he read to her plants. She used to tell him what a lovely voice he had, and how much the plants loved it when he read to them. He’d duck away to hide his blush and she’d graciously change the subject, offering tea made with leaves from the herb garden.

She surprised him by leaning in for a hug as well, though hers is looser and more brief. She had never been the best with physical contact, and he deeply appreciated the gesture.

“Hiya, Hoodie,” Harley said shyly.

“Hey,” he grinned.

He didn’t know Harley as well as the others. She’d gotten her start after he died and, from what he’d heard, left the Joker a little before he came back. She’s with Pamela now, apparently, and if they’re happy then he’s happy.

He can never think of Harley without remembering Catherine. They’d both seen, or thought they’d seen, a spark of good in someone and done everything they could to nurture it. They’d both been ruined for having tried. And no one could say if what they saw was real, but the fact was they’d seen it and they’d suffered for it. Catherine had never escaped. Jason’s glad Harley did.

Suddenly, vines shot up from the floor, holding his arms and legs in place.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were alive?” Selina demanded.

Jason settled in, trying to prepare himself for the arduous task of explaining to the irate women just where he’d been the last five years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, Jason saying that he's happy if Pam and Harley are happy is not him struggling to accept that Pam is a lesbian. It's just that Harley isn't the girl he would've picked for his friend, based on her reputation.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the late chapter. The plot's been kind of fighting me. I went through about twelve different versions of this chapter in my head before finally settling on what I'm posting now. I hope it was worth the wait.

The Sirens sat quietly on Selina’s couch, waiting for Jason’s story. Selina took one side, while Harley took the other, leaving Pamela to sit rather uncomfortably in the middle. They made an interesting trio, sitting like that. They’d all come in uniform, Selina in her black leathers, goggles pushed up into her short, dark curls, green, cat-like eyes watching him intently. Madame Pele sprawled elegantly across her lap, giving him a judging stare. Pamela, as always, wore little. A necessity of her plant physiology, she’d told him once, since she absorbed sunlight and carbon dioxide through her skin. She wore a pair of rather tiny shorts and a red button up, left open at the top and bottom to expose her chlorophyllic skin. Harley had opted for black jeans and a leather jacket, unzipped over a white shirt. Her blonde hair was dyed at the ends, half blue and half red like Jason had seen on the news. Her baseball bat was propped lazily against the couch next to her.

Jason sat cross-legged on the floor before them. Clearing his throat nervously, he launched into an account of the last five years. He left nothing out. The agony of the Lazarus pit, the killing of his trainers, his failed attempt at revenge, his return to Nanda Parbat, his new family, his plan. He laid it all bare before them, hoping they wouldn’t judge him for what he’d become. He sat quietly, before them, bracing himself for their verdict.

“You want to kill... pretty much everybody,” Selina stated grimly, “Do you really want to take that on?”

Jason crossed his arms. “Somebody needs to do it and we all know Bruce doesn’t have it in him.”

“Just be sure it’s not too much,” Selina responded, fixing him with a searching gaze. “You shouldn’t have to be the one to do it all.”

“Selina, I need this. I want to move on, but I can’t do it knowing I left an entire city of people hanging. There are still nights I can’t sleep, knowing the Clown is still alive. Living in Gotham is like being trapped in a fucking nightmare. There are so many innocent people who didn’t ask for this life. They need somebody to kill the monsters under their beds so they can sleep again. I need that too. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but we can’t live like this anymore.”

Jason looked up at the Sirens, chin set. He knew he was right. He knew they knew it. What he’d proposed was messy, rough, dirty work, but it _had_ to be done. He hoped they’d agree to do it with him.

Madame Pele moved first. Evidently satisfied with what she’d heard, she hopped smoothly off the sofa and slunk to Jason’s side. She butted her head against his shoulder, and he reached down carefully to scratch her chin, remembering she used to like that. She rubbed her head over his hands and arms, having decided to claim him again as one of hers. When she was satisfied, she returned to Selina’s lap and started grooming her paws. Jason was back and the conversation no longer needed her attention.

“Well, her majesty has spoken,” Pamela grinned. “Of course we’ll help you Jason.”

Selina nodded assent. “I got your back, Birdie.”

Harley had been sitting quietly, leaned into the corner of the couch like she wanted to disappear. Now, she seemed to gather herself, setting her shoulders determinedly. She came to sit on the floor in front of him. Her movements were hesitant, as if she were afraid of him. She cleared her throat and tugged awkwardly at her pigtails. “Umm, I know we don’t know each other real well,” she began, accent broadening with her nervousness, “and I understand if ya hate me ‘cause I used ta run around with the Joker, but I wanna help too... if you’ll let me?”

Jason was surprised, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been. He’d dealt with the same judgement Harley feared now after Bruce took him in. It didn’t matter how well he spoke, how well he dressed, how proper his manners were, or how much he achieved in school; some people couldn’t see him as anything but a mixed-race kid from the streets. People were assholes and it was hard to move forward when everyone wanted to hold you back. Jason knew that better than anyone.

“Harley,” he said, taking her hands, “of course I want your help. You were his therapist and, from what I hear, a damn good one. I don’t know much about therapy, but I don’t think you can try to connect with a person without giving them at least a little of yourself. You tried to help him and he used that to hurt you. That’s not your fault and I don’t blame you for it.”

Harley pitched herself forward with a happy squeal, crying tears of relief into Jason’s shoulder. Pamela’s smile could’ve powered the sun. Jason found himself smiling too.

Maybe it was foolish, trusting Harley. It certainly wasn’t the most logical decision, yet Jason found himself doing so anyway. She was as terrified of the Joker as he was, maybe more, but he could feel her conviction. She needed this as badly as he did and he knew she’d see it through.

“I won’t let you down, kid,” she swore.

“I trust you, Harley,” he replied, “And call me Jason... when we’re out of masks at least.”

“Thanks... Jason,” she whispered. “Now uhh, shouldn’t we be going to your super secret base to figure out the plan?”

Jason laughed. “Yeah, I suppose we should.”

They each took different routes to Jason’s hideout. Harley and Pamela rode over on her motorcycle, making a wide loop into Gotham to throw off potential Bat surveillance. Their network wasn’t as strong this deep in Park Row, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Jason and Selina had a race, each taking a separate route. The loser had to buy the winner ice cream. It was a game they’d played back when he was Robin on nights he was able to slip away from Bruce. It felt good bringing it back now.

Jason sprinted, pushing himself to the limits. He practically flew across the rooftops, his feet hardly seeming to touch the ground. Some childlike part of him wondered if tonight would finally be the night he beat Catwoman in a race.

He caught a glimpse of her, every now and then, several rooftops away, landing with feline grace on the smallest of ledges, whip snapping out to carry her along. In five years, it seemed, she hadn’t lost a step. If anything she was faster than he remembered, and he had to wonder if she’d been going easy back in the day.

With a wild laugh, he launched himself out into space, taking a gap his younger self would’ve never attempted. At the last second, his grappling line shot out, pulling him along. It was at times like these that he loved Gotham, running with no place to go and no one chasing him, the feeling of flying. It was the first taste of freedom he’d ever had.

He and Selina landed on the roof of the safe house simultaneously.

“You’ve gotten fast, Birdie,” she complimented.

“Guess we’ll have to go halvsies on the ice cream huh?” he chuckled breathlessly.

Selina grinned wickedly. “Nah!” She pushed him out of the way and hopped through the window first.

With a laughing shake of his head, Jason followed her.

He found Selina sprawled across a desk, striking up a conversation with his mother. Catwoman had done work for the League in the past and it seemed she and Talia were familiar. Jason gave the gloating woman a jab in the ribs as he past, going to open the front door for Harley and Ivy. Adira joined him, standing curiously at his shoulder.

“Hey there, suga,’” Harley chirped, shooting Adira an infectious smile and bouncing up to plant a kiss on each of her cheeks. “Harley Quinn. Nice ta meet’cha!”

“Adira Sharabi,” she replied smoothly, returning Harley’s smile. Only someone who knew her as well as Jason could see that she was completely baffled by the bubbly clown woman.

“I apologize for my girlfriend,” Ivy said, pulling Harley away so she could shake Adira’s hand, “We’ve been watching the travel channel. Pamela Isley. Poison Ivy when I’m working.”

“Nice to meet you,” Adira smiled, taking the outstretched hand.

“I see you’ve all made it,” Talia observed, inserting herself smoothly into the conversation. “My name is Talia al Ghul, the Demon’s Head and leader of the League of Assassins. I am also, from the moment he came into my care, Jason’s mother.”

With an elegant gesture, she led the group to the main array of monitors, inviting them to pick among the various office chairs littering the room. Jason moved to her side, preparing to explain his plans in more detail.

The monitors began to flash with images of Gotham’s high-tier crime lords and assorted crazies, the Joker, Nygma, Dent, Black Mask, Professor Pyg and all the others. The current residents of Arkham were listed together, while those who were free were listed with their known hideouts, aliases, and other relevant information. The Bats were accounted for as well, both public and private identities.

“Whatever we do, the Bats are going to know about it pretty much immediately,” Jason spoke up. “We’ll be relying on that. Bruce is a hell of a detective, but he can only retrace our steps, and he doesn’t know we’re working together. We’ll work in teams, and he’ll have to treat whatever we do as separate cases. At this point, we have the advantage.”

“So, instead of trying not to leave a trail, we’re gonna leave lots of little trails?” Harley clarified.

“Precisely,” Adira grinned wolfishly.

“We’ll let the Bats spin their wheels while we do what we came here to do,” Jason concluded. “First, Talia is going to bomb the maximum security wing at Arkham. Meanwhile, Adira and I are having a meeting with Oswald Cobblepot. The Penguin is going to kill Black Mask.”

“And what about us?” Selina asked, raising an eyebrow. “What do you need us for?”

A smile curled Jason’s lips. “The Sirens are going to embark on a crime spree. For the moment, you’re a distraction. Get creative.”

“We’ve got it covered,” Pamela grinned.

“Ooh girls this is gonna be fun!” cackled Harley.

Briefing over, the group dispersed. The Sirens were sleeping there as well, so everyone took their pick of beds. Jason stripped out of his body armor and flopped onto a cot, clothes still on.

“Are you ready for this?” Adira asked, taking the cot adjacent.

“As I’ll ever be,” he muttered grimly.

Now that he was back in Gotham and the preparations were made, Jason was hit with the weight of what they were about to do. Over a decade of total war on the streets of Gotham, and he planned to end it in a few short, bloody nights. What if he failed? What if he _succeeded_?

“Hey,” she said, taking his hand, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe this was worth doing. And besides,” she grinned wryly, “it’s not like this city can get any worse.”

“Thanks,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “Thanks for doing this with me.”

“You’d do the same for me. Good night Jason.”

With that, she rolled over and went promptly to sleep. Jason laid awake a while longer, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath until he followed her into the darkness.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I'm sorry for the long wait. It took me forever to get this chapter right! I did a ton of research. I had to figure out the layout of Gotham and decide on how I wanted to portray the Iceberg Lounge. I decided to go with the Iceberg Lounge from the Gotham tv show, but I used the version of the Penguin from the Arkhamverse games. Hope you enjoy!

Thank God for Talia’s tailor. Jason had protested when, several months ago, his mother had dragged him into that little shop in London, but now he was grateful. Tonight, he and Adira would be going to the Iceberg Lounge and he needed to fit in.

A tarp had been erected so Jason could change with privacy. He stood behind it, feeling nervous as he dressed himself.

The suit was a bespoke grey three-piece. Jason wore it with a white shirt, an elegant dark blue and silver paisley tie, and a matching pocket square. On his feet were a pair of burgundy Oxfords and, on his wrist, an open-faced Zenith watch.

Jason had always felt out of place in suits. At the Wayne galas, everyone had known him as Bruce’s pet project, the street rat, the spic. He’d heard the whispers for years.

_“What is Wayne doing, bringing that little rat in here?”_

_“Watch your purse around that one.”_

It had robbed Jason of the little confidence he’d had, destroyed what remained of his dignity, made him feel less than worthless. Since then, he’d always felt as if he wasn’t worthy of luxuries like expensive clothes. To have them felt like painting a target on his back.

Even now, the clothes felt a bit strange, but it helped to know they had been made for him. He was reminded of something Alfred told him once: _“The man makes the clothes, Master Jason, not the other way ‘round.”_ It hadn’t meant much when the old man had said it; Jason hadn’t been ready to hear it then. Now, with the benefits of time and distance, he could see the truth in it. These people would have no idea who he was. If he wore the suit comfortably, no one would assume he didn’t belong in it. And damnit he _belonged_ in it. No one told Jason Todd who he could or couldn’t be.

He allowed himself a moment in front the mirror to study his reflection. He noticed his skin, just a little too olive to pass for white, his dark curls, ruthlessly pulled back from his forehead, his teal eyes, a bit more green now from his dip in the pit, the perfect fit of his suit. He wasn’t one to worry excessively about his appearance - life had rarely afforded him the luxury of such simple problems - but tonight he looked _good._  

He stepped out of the makeshift changing room in time to watch Adira exit her own. She was stunning. She was always stunning but, when she looked ready for an evening in Monaco, it was something else entirely.

The dress was an Alexander McQueen, midnight blue, single-strapped and flowing gracefully to just above her knees. It was simple, elegant, and would allow her some freedom of movement. She’d paired it with black, Louboutin suede pumps. An unadorned silver band, wrapped elegantly around her right bicep, completed the look. She wore her hair down, falling in loose curls to her shoulders. 

The part of Jason that wasn’t trying to remember how to breathe swore right then that, the next time he saw her in that dress, it wouldn’t be for a job. 

Harley gave a low whistle at the sight of her. Selina and Ivy complimented her lavishly. Even Talia cast her an approving glance.

“And our wittle Birdie‘s all grown up,” Selina teased, reaching out as if to pinch his cheeks. He slapped her hands away indignantly.

“He’s sooo cute!!” Harley cooed.

He sulked as they continued to tease him, cooing and giggling obnoxiously. Selina mashed her fingertips together, making kissing noises. Jason couldn’t decide whether to shoot her or himself.

Finally, Pamela came to his rescue, elbowing Selina in the ribs and rapping her knuckles against Harley’s forehead. “You look wonderful, Jason,” she said quietly. 

“Like a Son of the Demon,” Talia added with a smile. She drew him into her arms and kissed his forehead.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” Selina said soberly, pulling him into a hug.

Harley looked a little nervous to intrude on the personal moment, but she smiled broadly at Jason anyway. He made a point to squeeze her hand as he passed by.

“Shall we go?” Adira asked, offering her arm with a silly grin.

Jason laughed aloud, placing his hand the crook of her elbow, and the stepped out into the cool night air. Talia’s people had left them a car for the event. It was parked a couple blocks away in a slightly better neighborhood. It still wouldn’t look like it belonged there, but it would raise less suspicion than it would’ve parked in front of a newly opened nonprofit organization. 

They walked along, talking and laughing softly. The plan was already set, so the conversation turned to more trivial things. Jason found himself bringing up all the little details they had never bothered to learn about one another.

Her favorite author was Phillip K. Dick. Jason had enjoyed _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep_ but hadn’t made the time to read any of his other works.

She wasn’t really interested in art, but that was fine because he wasn’t either.

She had little time for music, but she did like the blues, jazz, and even some hip hop. Jason himself was a bit of a rap head, but he could enjoy pretty much anything except death metal and country. As a child, Catherine had gotten him into musicals. In another life, he might’ve been an actor.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to be on a date. Jason had been fifteen when he died and, with his breakneck lifestyle, getting a girlfriend had been the last thing on his mind. He’d never asked a girl to a dance, or had dinner and a movie. There had been no awkward moments or silly cliches. That fact had never bothered him before, but now he would kill to have had a little experience.

The street was empty as they walked comfortably past graffitied walls and war-torn facades, illuminated by flickering streetlights. It was as if, for one night only, someone had switched off the sirens and silenced the gunshots, cleared away the grime and filtered the smog. There was a sort of serenity in the muffled stillness. It was almost beautiful. 

Perhaps Gotham had blessed them with a rare quiet night. Or perhaps the city was holding its breath, bracing itself for the storm Jason was about to unleash. The thought had a hard, cold knot settling in the pit of his stomach. He pushed it aside, filing it into the ever growing box in his mind marked _LATER_. Happy moments were hard to come by and he was going to enjoy this one while it lasted.

The pickup point was an abandoned parking garage a few blocks from the free clinic. It was relatively clean and not in immediate danger of collapse, which made it the best available spot to discreetly stash the car. It was a silver Aston Martin Vanquish, a perfect blend of frivolous expense and understated good taste.

Jason was probably drooling. He had _dreamed_ about this car. Right hand drive, manual transmission, and probably fantastic in the corners. He was in heaven.

“I’m driving,” Adira informed him, snatching the keys smoothly from his pocket. 

He was about to protest but stopped, seeing that she looked even more lovestruck than him. She slid behind the wheel, placing her shoes carefully in the footwell on the passenger side. She was practically purring.

“I’m driving back,” he asserted.

“Mhm, sure,” she hummed noncommittally. He wasn’t sure she’d even heard him.

The engine roared to life with triumphant fury. Jason barely had time to strap himself in before the car was screaming out onto the street. He was pitched against the door, a creative string of curses spilling from his lips. Adira laughed at his alarm and put her foot down just for the hell of it.

Traffic laws were tossed out the window, the laws of physics taken as a mere suggestion. The ride passed in a melted blur of fast corners and perfectly executed shifts.

Following Jason’s directions, Adira screamed across the bridge into the Upper East Side. She hit eighth gear on the outskirts of Robinson Park. A cop flashed his lights, but quickly decided a chase wasn’t worth the effort.

The change in scenery told Jason they’d reached the Diamond District. He’d been here only a handful of times out of uniform. Alfred had dragged him on the occasional shopping trip to see that he had school supplies or that his clothes were in adequate condition. Other than that, Jason had avoided this place when he could. Somehow, he’d always felt safer amongst the dank alleys and drug deals of the Row than in the ritzy flash of the Diamond District.

As Robin, he’d spent many nights on the city’s cleanest rooftops. The Arkham crowd had always loved to make a scene, so the museums and shopping centers of the Diamond District had been prime targets. A younger Jason had fought long and hard for the right to patrol these streets unsupervised. 

The police presence was much greater here, a squad car on nearly every corner. Many of the private donors lived and worked in the Diamond District, so keeping it safe was a priority. Jason couldn’t blame them. Most of the city’s money went into rebuilding things the Bat broke, even with the sizable contributions of the Wayne Foundation. The GCPD practically ran on private money. It was just one more problem he’d have to fix. 

They slowed down, cruising the tree lined streets filled with shining store fronts and stately brownstones. The streets were tidier, the buildings better maintained, the men cuff linked and the women perfectly coiffed. Even the air smelled cleaner.

 _“You don’t belong here,”_ whispered the gentle breeze.

Jason ignored it. He wasn’t afraid anymore.

The Iceberg Lounge was impossible to miss. Cobblepot had spared no expense on the crown jewel of his empire. Ice blue neon above the door depicted a stylized version of the eponymous formation. Patrons in tuxedos and cocktail dresses stood formed a line to the end of the block. The bouncer, a lump of muscle resembling an ape in a tailored suit, stood in front of the door holding the guest list.

Adira and Jason left the car with a valet and marched right up to the door. The people they had come here as weren’t the sort to wait in line. Jason passed the ape his false ID and a hundred dollar bill.

“Let’s see...” he grunted, making a show of searching the guest list, “Got it. Right this way Mr. Alvarez. We hope you and your ahhh... _bodyguard_ enjoy the ambience.”

Adira shot the man a predatory grin as they walked past. A shudder rippled through his meaty shoulders.

The interior was lavishly appointed. Black leather, dark wood, a checked tile floor. The neon outline of an umbrella hung above the bar. A large ice sculpture dominated the center of the lounge. On stage, a woman, resplendent in her floor-length purple dress, belted out the opening notes of “Stormy Weather.” 

Watching from his private balcony, like an Emperor Penguin surveying his cache of shiny trinkets, sat Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. He was grandly bedecked with a fur overcoat, a top hat, and a monocle. By his side rested his infamous umbrella cane. His appearance should’ve seemed foppish, but there was something so undeniably hard-boiled about the man that one wouldn’t dare question it. He was a true gutter king. Jason was about to make him dance like a marionette. 

Jason and Adira approached Cobblepot’s guard, paying their way to an audience. With a simple grunt of “Your funeral,” he led the way.

The mob boss sat at a large, ornate wooden desk, puffing absently on a cigar. A thick fog of smoke swirled lazily about his head. The guard whispered something in his ear, then moved to stand at his shoulder.

The Penguin observed them shrewdly, squinting through his monocle. After a long moment, he nodded and Jason settled into the chair across from him. At the wave of Cobblepot’s hand, the guard poured Jason a cognac and moved to block the stairs. Jason didn’t like having the man outside his field of view, but he trusted Adira to cover his back.

Leaning onto his elbows, he addressed the Penguin. “My name is Fernando Ferreira Alvarez. I want you to kill Roman Sionis.”

The Penguin threw his head back, a gravelly, hacking cackle ripping from his thin lips. “You’ve got balls, kid. I’ll give you that,” Cobblepot said in his North London rasp, puffing on his cigar.

Jason took a slow sip from his tumbler, swaying along to the music. 

“So you want Black Mask dead? What makes you think I’m the guy to make that happen?” He asked, a hand coming up to adjust his monocle.

“He’s been in your pocket ever since he came up. He runs the streets and you run him. He’s the vicious crime boss and you’re the respectable owner of the best club in Gotham. It’s a hell of a con, I’ve got to admit.”

“Even if that were true, what do you need me for? If I were the man-behind-the-man, as it were, and you could get to me, what’s stopping you from whacking Mask yourself?”

“Sure I could get him, but I want you to do it,” Jason grinned wolfishly, enjoying the game.

Suddenly, a massive hand slammed Jason’s head into the table and held it there.

“Answer the question, you little bastard!” Cobblepot shouted, umbrella crashing against the table.

The hand around Jason’s neck went limp with a pained bellow and the sound of crunching bones. Jason heard another crunch and a thud as Penguin’s muscle hit the floor. Cobblepot went very still at the sight of Jason’s handgun leveled unwaveringly at his head. It had all happened in the space of two heartbeats.

“We wanted to keep things civil, Mr. Cobblepot. This is a fine establishment and it’d be a shame to ruin the ambience,” Adira said, stepping over the whimpering lump as if he weren’t there and taking her place at Jason’s shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

The Sirens needed to make a splash. It didn’t matter what they did, it just needed to get the Bats’ attention. They were at the shelter, seated around a table with a map of Gotham spread out between them, trying to pick a target to rob. It was difficult, picking from their usual selection of jewelry stores, museums, banks, and homes of the idle rich. They had plenty of options, but nothing felt quite right.

To ease her growing boredom, Harley switched on the news feed. 

“-Hoffman’s intern, Inej Abadi, has accused him of sexual assault, making her the fourth young woman in the past year to do so. Hoffman’s lawyers have vehemently denied the allegations. Hoffman himself has been unavailable for comment.” 

An icy rod of terror shot through Harley, then a swell of blinding rage. The feeling was disgustingly familiar. The remote broke in her hand, bits of broken plastic digging into the skin. She kept squeezing as warm blood pooled between her fingers. 

No one knew how to break a person quite like the Joker. He had a way of finding every fear, the smallest vulnerability, doubts you didn’t even know you had. He’d make you question everything until the only thing you knew for sure was him. If life is just a big, sick joke, what can be real but the man who knows the punchline?

He had broken her faith, warped her mind, stolen her will to live. He had spent years chipping away at her until she was sure there was nothing left. Thank God she had Pammy to tell her different. Some days, her partner’s faith in her was the only thing that kept her going. 

The weight of Pammy’s arm fell across her shoulders and Harley allowed herself to lean into the comforting touch.

Selina bared her teeth in a jagged facsimile of a smile. “I think I know what we’re doing tonight,” she remarked drily. 

A half hour of scouring the internet turned up all the information they needed on Martin Hoffman. The news articles were horrifying. In addition to assault, they learned that he had been accused of recording his victims in compromising situations, then using the footage as blackmail to keep them quiet. They also learned his schedule and address. 

Hoffman lived in an extravagant penthouse in the Diamond District. It was in a popular location, surrounded by the shops, restaurants, and night life one would expect to appeal to a wealthy, educated man of Hoffman’s age. The building had a door man and a small private security force. These amenities were the reason Harley now found herself on the roof, waiting as Selina pondered a way in. 

She hummed something that sounded suspiciously like “Genie in a Bottle” as she poured over the schematics she’d downloaded to her smart phone. 

An air vent with an invitingly large opening lay on the other side of the roof. Harley cleared her throat pointedly, jostling the master thief’s arm. “Hey Kitty, I think I just found our way in.” 

“Saw it,” Selina grunted, “Too easy. It’s a trap.” 

“Not when you’re with us,” Pam grinned, sashaying towards it. 

She knelt down in front of the grate, placing a small pot on the ground. Her eyes glowed green as a vine grew out of the pot, questing towards the grate. Though she’d seen it countless times, Harley still marveled at the display of Ivy’s power. It was like watching a time lapse, seeing the vine, which had been a seed just moments before, unfurl and split, growing leaves and little white flowers. Pamela was giving of herself the energy it needed to grow. Harley was certain she’d never seen anything so beautiful. 

The vine quickly found the grate, curling into it with clever fingers, then slowly lifting it out of place and setting it down on the ground. With a gesture from Pam, the vine shrunk back, adjusting to the size of the pot. 

“I’ll plant you in the park, where you can grow tall and strong,” Ivy whispered, caressing the vine tenderly and settling it back into its pouch. 

“Watch and learn, Kitty-Cat,” she said, raising her hand to her lips and blowing gently. A fine powder of spores floated from her palm and into the vent. It glowed softly, illuminating the shaft. 

Foolishly, the vent had been left free of traps. The building’s security team must’ve assumed that no one would try to squeeze through their vents. Had their penthouse tenant not been such a bastard, they probably would’ve been right. Now though, their negligence was biting them in the ass. 

Don’t ask how Harley got in, but it involved a  _lot_ of squeezing and sucking in things that were really meant to be left out. God knew how Pammy managed it. 

They dropped into Hoffman’s living room. It was furnished in the modern style with black and white furniture and lots of exposed bricks and support beams. Harley was immediately struck by how  _sterile_ it was. The photographs were generic, no family or friends, nothing personal at all, just skylines and landscapes. The couch was flawless, shining white leather with a black pillow perfectly arranged at each end. There wasn’t even a butt-print. A large flatscreen hung on the wall, but there was no remote in sight. If not for the lack of dust, she would’ve thought the place had never been lived in. It was like a showroom. Or a mausoleum. 

It set Harley’s psychiatrist senses tingling. 

The man was a sociopath, that much was obvious from his complete lack of scruples. 

He was also a narcissist. Abusers often were. The utter lack of remorse and reckless belief that he could not be caught or punished spoke to his complete disregard for others. 

His apartment told her that he was completely image-obsessed. This place wasn’t meant to be lived in, and it was clear that it brought its owner no pleasure. No different than his meticulously styled hair, perfectly manicured nails, and precisely creased suits, it was all an elaborate mask hiding the predator underneath. 

Harley could speculate on a plethora of factors that made this man what he was today. Childhood abuse, failure to form parental bonds, being unwanted by one or both parents, a lack of stability. Any of all of those could transform an innocent child into a sociopath. Predators, often, were made rather than born.

So what made men like Martin Hoffman, like the Joker, want to hurt people? The truth was, Harley didn’t care. She had cared once, when she was younger and more optimistic. She’d believed she could reach these people in their brokenness, that she could fix them. Now she knew: some people don’t  want  to be fixed. She’d nearly lost herself in trying. 

According to his schedule, Hoffman would be home sometime in the next three minutes. The Sirens settled into the white couch to wait. Harley made a point of tucking her feet under her, creasing and staining the leather with her dirty combat boots. Damn thing gave her the creeps. 

The rattling of keys in a lock announced Hoffman’s arrival. Harley felt herself tensing in anticipation, but she remained silent. They had no need of surprise, but it certainly made things more fun. 

The abuser rounded the corner, unbuttoning his suit coat as he walked towards the bedroom. 

“Ya know, you look a lot taller on TV,” Harley chirped. 

Hoffman started, whirling to face the source of the noise. His expression cycled rapidly from shock to fear and finally to anger. 

“Mr. Hoffman,” Selina purred, leaning forward sensually. Harley fought an eye roll at the blatant sexuality of the action. Kitty tended to get a little carried away with the whole seductress thing when she was in costume. 

She slunk towards the man, backing him up against the wall. A claw trailed over his chest, slicing a button away from his shirt.

“Let’s chat.” 

“We heard that you like to humiliate women,” Ivy continued, placing her feet lazily on the coffee table. “We heard that you like to blackmail them, to control them and, well, we’re wondering what you see in it.” 

Harley pulled a video camera from a pouch on her waste, standing to get a better angle. 

“This is take one,” she grinned, “Strip.” 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super excited to bring y'all this one! Talia started really speaking to me. She explained a lot about where she's at and why she's doing what she's doing and I was able to get it down on paper in a way we were both happy with. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 12

The lunatics are running the madhouse. Venturing to Arkham Asylum brought that phrase to the forefront of Talia’s mind. The Demon’s Head had seen more than her share of horrors, but something about this place still burrowed its way under her skin. She had the strange impression that, if she stayed here to long, the corruption would claim her, blood and bone, and never let go. Half of her wanted to take her son and flee as far from this place as she could. The other half wanted to burn it and the rock it stood on to ash.

There was no screaming or insane laughter, no wailing of tortured souls, just a silence heavy as death. She could feel the anger, the hopelessness, the crushing despair. It was horrible. It was  _maddening_. This place belonged in hell, and she was going to send it back.

She walked quickly through the halls of the asylum, wearing a nurse’s uniform and pushing fifty pounds of plastic explosives in a medical supply cart. She had spent twelve minutes clinging to the hull of a supply boat wearing an uncomfortable wet suit and a rebreather that tasted of burnt plastic, then another ten climbing up the old waste disposal system, a single large pipe which had spent the better part of a century dumping filth into Gotham’s harbor.

Over the years, the old manor house had been converted into a cross between a hospital and a maximum security prison. The long hallways, once hung with ornate portraits and tapestries, were now reinforced concrete. Instead of Edison bulbs, light came from searingly bright LED’s. The doors were thick, heavy steel with a small, barred window at the top and a tiny slat for meal trays at the bottom. The harsh scent of antiseptic failed to mask the unmistakable taint of blood and excrement.

The security, Talia had to admit, was top of the line. Cameras were visible at twenty foot intervals. Each cell was sure to have a camera inside too, and likely an alarm rigged to the door. Bruce’s attention to detail, as always, was impressive. What he failed to account for, failed to _understand_ , was the inmates’ determination to escape the hell they were continually placed into. Lack of empathy had always been his greatest shortcoming. He struggled to understand both his enemies and his allies. It had brought him close to defeat more than once.

A nurse came from the other way, cart trundling along, carrying an opportunity. Her hair was a thick, mud brown tangle. Her watery blue eyes faded into the thick purple bands on her lower lids. Her cheeks were prematurely lined and her shoulders slightly hunched. Upon seeing Talia, she hunched them even more, obviously wanting to be left alone.

Talia nodded a greeting. “Hi,” she said, polite and a little nervous, “my name is Carmen Santiago. I’m new here. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to get to know my coworkers.

The nurse let out an irritated huff. For a moment, Talia thought she’d simply keep walking, but then she took pity on her new coworker. “You picked a hell of a place to work,” she said gruffly, words twisting around a weathered Gotham accent, “but then I suppose we all did. Name’s Donna Mitchell.”

With that she moved on, not sparing ‘Carmen’ another glance. Talia continued as well, grateful for her medical mask and the staff’s general attitude of minding their own business.

She was headed for the old boiler in the maximum security wing. For all of the updates the building had undergone, the heating remained original. The asylum was heated by three massive boilers, one for the left wing, one for the middle, and one for the right wing. The last of these was her target.

Currently, she was on the main floor of the maximum security wing, but the boiler was in the basement and the elevator was guarded by retinal scanner and voice recognition. She approached the elevator at the end of the hallway, stepping confidently up to the retinal scanner. The digital lens in her left eye changed colors, perfectly matching Donna’s watery blue. A screen prompted Talia to state her name. “Donna Mitchell,” she said in a perfect approximation of the woman’s slightly gravely intonation.

The elevator door slid open and Talia stepped inside. Each pair of floors had its own elevator, such that a person could travel up or down only one floor at a time. The building’s stairs had all been blocked off. This made it practically impossible to move about undetected.

The only viable option she had found was to pass oneself off as staff, and even that was fraught with risk. She’d fooled the staff and the retinal and voice scanners, but it wouldn’t be long before someone realized that Donna Mitchell was in two places at once. Time was of the essence.

The basement was far more in line with what would expect of an infamous asylum. Walls of damp, reddish stone lit by fading yellow bulbs. Abandoned cells with rusty shackles dangling from the walls. Filth and dried blood. It looked more like a medieval torture chamber than a hospital. Much as Talia liked to believe herself above such things, she couldn’t deny the curl of primal dread slithering through her stomach.

Once, when she was a girl, her father had placed a dagger in her hand, a tiny thing better suited to opening letters than throats, and pushed her out onto the sands of the training arena.

_Opposite her, two of her father’s guards stood at attention. Between them was a man on his knees, bound in heavy iron chains with a sword against his neck. Even prostrate, Talia could see that he was a giant. He thrashed, grunting and snarling like an animal, desperate to reach her. A longsword was placed before him, gleaming in the harsh sunlight. His muscles rippled with the strain of trying to reach it._

_“This man has killed a hundred girls like yourself,” her father said, “and he will stop at nothing to kill you. Defend yourself, or you will die.”_

_During the fight, she had opened the man’s throat and buried her blade in his chest. His blood had fallen like rain, staining the parched earth, but he had fought on. Unable to speak past the river running from his open lips, he had continued, born on by the strength of his hate and too frenzied to realize he was dead already. Talia would never forget the sickly fire of mania in his eyes as he lurched towards her, still swinging his sword with terrible strength._

_It was only when Talia beheaded him with his own blade that he had finally gone still. He was her first kill._

Perhaps her father had thought it would be easier for her to kill when her life was threatened. Perhaps he had viewed her opponent as more monster than man and hoped to spare her the guilt of killing another person. But, instead, she had realized that she’d never met someone more fundamentally human than the brute he’d set upon her. What she had faced in the ring that day was not a monster but a man driven mad by a singularly human urge. No other creature but man kills for sport and this man had lost himself to the desire to shed as much blood as possible. The lessons she learned that day were ones she would never forget.

Talia knew madness. She had seen too many people taken by it in her long life. She had nearly lost herself to it more than once. The world had broken her heart in a million ways. Some days, she wanted nothing more than to rid the world of the burden of humanity. Others, she wished only to give in to her exhaustion, lay down, and die. There were times when only the thought of her sons was enough to restore her faith in humanity.

If humanity could produce something as incredible as these children she had the privilege to love, then she could not doubt that it was worth saving. So she persisted, fighting for a world where the beauty she saw could flourish. Somewhere, beneath all the filth, was a world worth living in. Talia made it her mission to dig it out.

The boiler was a hulking, black, turn of the century monstrosity. A forty foot cylindrical tank with three chimneys and a massive coal shoot. If she didn’t know better, Talia would worry that she hadn’t brought enough explosives. Fortunately, she’d done her research and knew exactly how much she needed and where to put it to cause the most damage. Working quickly, she packed the bombs into the seems along the sides of the tank. All she had to do was create a breach, and the pressure generated by the steam would do the rest. The explosion would level a third the building.

Once everything was in place, she readied the trigger. The detonator was linked to her smart phone, so there was no need to set a timer. All she had to do was reach a safe distance and press a button. There would be no time to evacuate and no chance of disarmament.

An alarm sounded in the distance as she hastened to the back of the boiler room. The boiler had its own pipe dumping water into the harbor, just large enough for Talia to squeeze through. She hasn’t used it before because it was too narrow for her gear but, now, it suited her purposes nicely.

She shed the nurses uniform quickly, donning her wetsuit and rebreather. The guards would be expecting a breakout rather than a sabotage which would by her some time, but she still had to hurry. She had left herself a three minute window to escape.

The pipe was shut with a heavy locking valve. Talia had saved an extra pound of explosives to open it. She packed and primed the explosives, then stepped back to trigger them. The blast ripped a large opening in the pipe. Talia could hear shouting just outside the room. Quickly, she fastened her rebreather and squeezed into the opening, letting the water carry her away.

The water was scalding and Talia was left reeling by the incredible force of it. It pounded at her, nearly ripping the rebreather from her mouth. Her teeth ached with the effort of holding it in. She was burned and beaten and it felt like she was drowning and just when she thought she could take no more she exploded from the pipe and plunged into the cold water of the bay.

Gritting her teeth, she dragged herself into the small boat that had been left for her use. She spat out the rebreather and ripped off the wetsuit. Her hair was filthy as she rung it out over the side. She dragged the loose combat garb over her aching limbs and started the boat. Soon, she was flying towards the shore.

The press of the trigger was accompanied by a thundering sound of strain and breakage. A massive, ear shattering crash, followed by the sounds of breaking glass and falling stone. The shaking intensified until the waves nearly capsized her small craft. Then it was over.

Talia looked back at the wreckage of the asylum. The main and west wings of the building still stood but the maximum security wing and the horrors inside it were no more. She smiled for a moment, then she was gone, the night swallowing her like a dream.


	13. Chapter 13

_“-Black Mask was gunned down last night in what appears to be a random drive-by shooting-“_

_“-Mr. Hoffman was stripped nude and dangled out the window of his apartment, apparently suspended by his ankles from a giant plant-“_

_“-if the allegations are true, I won’t hesitate to say he deserved it-“_

_“-leveled the building. Emergency crews are on site but it’s unlikely they will find survivors-“_

_“-this may just be the biggest attack Gotham’s ever had-“_

_“-it’s about time someone put those miserable bastards in the ground-“_

_“-obviously a personal attack on the vigilante-“_

_“It’s his damn fault these freaks are in our city-“_

_“Can he save us again?“_

_“How will Batman respond?"_

The news blared through the feeds, a cacophony of voices crying out in fear, derision, desperation, division. A whirlwind of anger, fear, opinion and speculation. Everyone wanted answers. Everyone had them. Perfect chaos. 

Damian sat quietly next to his aunt, watching the feeds. He tried to keep his face blank, focused, but he was worried. 

He remembered the quiet boy who had followed him like a shadow, eyes sparkling with quiet wisdom his mouth could no longer express. He remembered the vacant half-smile that would pull his lips when presented with a book, the vague, reproachful frown he wore when breaking the bones of any who came too near his self-appointed charge, the frustrated furrow of his brows when he couldn’t understand something. He remembered Jay, his first friend. 

He remembered the day mother introduced them.  _“His name is Jason,”_ she’d said,  _“Your brother. He was your father’s son, and now he is mine.”_

He remembered the changes in Jay after the Lazarus pit. That first meeting in France. Mother had woken Damian in the night. They’d packed their bags and slipped away through the servants’ quarters and onto a jet. Mother had said little, only that Jay needed them. 

Damian had been amazed. His brother could speak and read and fight, but he‘d been so angry. The pit restored Jason, but it also left him even more broken. His eyes, once a vivid teal, were now the color of poison, bubbling with rage that could boil over at the slightest indiscretion. He’d snapped at mother, raged at his old family, left enough corpses to fill a graveyard but, even at his darkest, he’d never so much as raised his voice at Damian. He’d asked to be called Jason. 

His time with the All Caste had done Jason well, Damian thought. He was still hurt, still angry, but he’d finally begun to let go of the past and live like he had a future. He’d still lashed out at Batman and the Joker, but it had been a necessary step in letting go.

Damian worried for his brother. He was back in the place that had broken him and Damian wasn’t there to hold him together. And he’d be lying if said he didn’t miss the comfort of Jason’s steady presence at his back. It was a hard thing to admit, but Damian relied on him. 

Damian found himself wishing for mother’s cool detachment or Nyssa’s iron calm, even his brother’s infuriating nonchalance. Some filter through which to view a situation that was moving rapidly beyond his scope.

Al Ghul’s were strong, steady, equipped for any challenge. They did not get overwhelmed. But Damian was. 

He felt useless. His skin crawled, humming with the need to do  _something._

His aunt must’ve noticed his nervousness, because she turned to him and said “there is nothing to fear, Damian.”

“I am not afraid,” the boy snapped, the words flying thoughtlessly from his mouth. His eyes widened as he realized he’d said that out loud, bracing himself for what Jason would’ve called the ass-chewing of a lifetime. 

To his surprise, her lips quirked up in a knowing smile. “I said the same thing to your grandfather once,” she told him, smiling almost wistfully, “He knew it was a lie, of course, but he chose to take me at my word. I suppose he thought life would teach me a lesson he could not. He was right, as he always seemed to be, and I became as hard as he was. But, if steel is forged too quickly, it becomes brittle, liable to shatter with a well-aimed strike. You Damian, will be made of diamond.” 

“Watch,” she said, as her fingers began to fly across the screen before them, scrolling rapidly through information about Gotham and the Bats. She brought up what the boy recognized as a real-time map of the city, augmented by traffic cameras, satellites, and even cell phones. Every electronic device in the city brought to bear. 

“With this, I can see everything in Gotham as it happens. I’m sure you’re familiar with Oracle?”

Damian nodded. While the interactions had been brief, he’d met her both as Grayson’s on-and-off girlfriend Barbara Gordon and as the Bats’ seemingly omniscient hacker. 

“With this, I can be to our team in Gotham what she is to Batman. I can also make an attempt at manipulating the city’s infrastructure, but not without alerting Oracle,” Nyssa explained. She slid away from the table, gesturing for Damian to take her place, “Show me police activity in the Coventry district.” 

Damian was amazed. He’d been taught to use every device in the conference room, learnt his first coding language alongside Arabic and English, been able to hack a mainframe since before he could walk, but this was the first time he’d been allowed to run technical support for an actual mission. Containing his excitement, he quickly accessed the GCPD’s communications. 

“Four armed robberies in progress, and a house fire near the Upper East Side,” he reported.

“And what is the fastest way there from GCPD Headquarters?”

He studied the map a moment before answering, “Head north along the East side of Robinson Park.”

“Good. What’s happening at Dixon Docks?”

Damian brought up video footage of the area, covering every angle. Men in ski masks were loading crates of weapons into the back of an unregistered truck. 

“Shipment of military grade weapons. Most likely going to Penguin. He does most of the arms dealing in Gotham.” 

“Team of four. How should they attack the shipment? It needs to be quiet.” 

He took a moment to consider his response. It was a small group. Damian counted seven, all of them armed. One was in the truck’s cab, obviously the driver. Two were loading the crates while the other four fanned out in a square covering them. They were obviously hired muscle and, from what Jason had told him, likely didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. If they felt threatened, they wouldn’t hesitate to fire on anything that moved. 

“I’d send one man ahead to subdue the driver. Once he’s rejoined the team, all four will silently take down the lookouts. Then, it’s a simple matter to silence the last two thugs.” 

His aunt nodded her approval, then began to work Damian through a variety of other scenarios. What if it were just mother and Jason? What if it were Selina Kyle? Pamela Isley and Harley Quinn? What if there were twelve guards, or twenty? A firefight? Interference from the Bats? 

Nyssa spent several hours testing Damian with different tasks and puzzles on how the team could best operate in Gotham. When she was satisfied, she dismissed Damian to do whatever he liked with the rest of the afternoon. His head ached from the mental exercise, but he was excited to have a task. He’d feel safer, having a hand in the proceedings. He went to his room, ready to call Jason and give him the good news. 


End file.
